Silly Mom Thoughts

I don’t know how I had the willpower to not find out Bean’s gender when I was pregnant with her. It must have been an act of God, some kind of supernatural power that possessed my body and allowed me to tell the ultrasound technician (not once, but twice), “Please don’t tell me what I’m having.”

This time, all of the willpower I once possessed has left me completely and utterly impatient.

At my last appointment, my doctor said we’d wait to schedule and ultrasound depending upon the results of my Quad Screen. I waited. And waited. Aaaand waited. Finally, I called the office and the nurse casually responded, “Oh, no worries, it was all negative!”

Well, of course, that was good news, but, as I explained to her, I was also supposed to be getting a date for my ultrasound. My doctor had mentioned that he wanted me to have one between 18 and 22 weeks. She said she would call me back with a date, and I hoped it would be within the next week.

To my disappointment, she told me it wouldn’t be until May 1st.  That was almost three weeks! Bah.

But now, finally, May 1st is in reach. (You’d think I was a three-year-old with how long the past few weeks have felt!) Yet, each day goes by crawling like a sleepy slug. And, with each second that ticks by, I find myself worrying about the appointment.

Why am I such a worrier? Seriously, I need to get over this.

I have had silly worries, like the technician refusing to tell me the sex of the babies or the babies not cooperating.

Then, I have had more serious worries, like something being physically wrong with them, or worse, one of them not living anymore. I have worried that one of the babies is significantly larger than its twin, and the other one is struggling to survive.

So many worries wrapped up around these two tiny little buggers.

Fortunately, I’m feeling them move more than ever before. The interesting thing is that Lefty, who was my crazy wiggler before, is suddenly not as kick-happy, where as Righty is a little wiggle worm. I don’t know if they’re taking turns on who is the more active one, but it has me a little concerned that Lefty is okay. I’m trying to tell myself that maybe he/she has just moved to a different position that I can’t feel as easily, or maybe he/she is going through a growth spurt or something that has her sleeping more.

I dunno.

But, I do know I’ll feel much better on Friday when I can see them wiggling around and healthy. Would you consider sending good thoughts and prayers our way?

I had the most devastating, yet hilarious pregnancy dream last night. My dreams are normally pretty vivid, but wow, this one takes the cake. In this dream, I learned the true identity of the twins. Interested to know what they were? Let me tell you: it wasn’t human.

In my dream, I was in a room with several pregnant women all crouching over paper plates and grunting. I was excited because I was going to be able to deliver my babies vaginally, something I have never experienced. They were coming a little early, so I knew they’d be small, but I was shocked at how small they were. The woman next to me groaned and pushed. I stole a glance at her paper plate and there was her beautiful, tiny…

Chicken egg.

Yes, that’s right, we were all birthing chicken eggs. I suddenly felt the urge to push, and push I did. (I’m actually surprised I didn’t crap my pants in the middle of the night because I’m fairly certain I was pushing in real life too.). Out popped my first “baby.” I didn’t have time to get a good look before the second one popped out. Then, to my surprise, a third.

Finally, my body was done birthing and I got a chance to examine my little ones. It was apparent right away that the third had died much earlier in the pregnancy, it wasn’t developed at all. I was sad, but I was really only expecting two, so it wasn’t as devastating as what I found out next.

All around me, women were caring for their newly birthed eggs, some of the eggs had hatched into cute little fuzzy chicks. I thought, “Wow, I was really hoping for babies, but I suppose a healthy chick is better than nothing.” But then I got a good look at my little ones. My babies were not eggs or fuzzy birds like the others. They were miniature cooked chickens, skinned, probably boiled since they were so pale, and headless. They were, by my pregnancy dream standards, dead.

I carried their lifeless little cooked bodies in my hands and with enormous emotional effort, threw them in the garbage.

This was where my dream went from amusing to downright devastating.

I left the hospital with nothing but a saggy belly pooch. I kept thinking, “But I saw those babies on ultrasound and they were babies, not birds!” and then, “I was just feeling them kick last night!” No matter how much I tried to convince myself that this must be a mistake, the belly pooch and lack of movement said it all.

I fell to the ground screaming and crying in agony and grief.

“I can’t do this again! I can’t go through all of the morning sickness, vomiting, everything again! I should have my babies here now!”

Eventually, I picked myself up. A couple days later, I put on makeup and nice clothes and faced the world. A friend of mine said, “Oh, I knew you’d get over it quickly.” I burst into tears.

What kind of a pregnancy dream was that?! So silly, yet so heartbreaking at the same time. It was truly reassuring to feel both babies kicking this morning. Let’s just hope they’re babies and not chickens.

I had a huge awakening yesterday and I’m starting to freak out. Below, is a picture I took  of my twin-filled belly at 18 weeks 5 days:

That’s big. No, I’m not saying I look fat or anything silly like that. It’s just, I don’t usually look that big until around seven months. Around seven or eight months is when I start getting uncomfortable and useless because bending over, standing, lifting, all becomes a massive chore. Usually, that’s fine and normal, because I have had time to prepare for the arrival of my baby and am, for the most part, set and ready to bring them home.

Right now, I’m nowhere near ready to bring these babies home. According to my doctor, there is a good chance that I deliver around 36 weeks, full term for twins. That is only 17 weeks from tomorrow. That would mean I’m more than halfway through this pregnancy.

Now, I know my babies, and I know they really love to cook as long as possible, so I’m fairly convinced they won’t be making an appearance until 38 or 39 weeks. However, no matter when they come home, I have a feeling my enormous belly will keep me from getting things ready much sooner than it did with my singleton pregnancies.

So, my belly picture started getting me all freaked out. Suddenly, I feel this major urgency to get our teeny house organized and ready to double our kid load. I look around everywhere and see things that need to be organized, given away, or thrown away. I see our huge, bulky dressers that are going to have to be replaced with pricey closet organizers simply because we need every inch of this house free as possible.

It’s overwhelming, to say the least.

Today, I am making it my task to clean out the hall closets and organize things there. I figure that’s an okay start. This weekend, Turk and I are planning on tackling what will be the twins’ room but is now our office/catch-all room. We have so much stuff we need to get rid of, and even more that we need to buy. A smaller desk, closet organizers, shelves…

I want, more than anything, to have this place as organized as possible before I’m anywhere near delivering the twins. I want to come home to a place where I know exactly where the diapers are, and which drawers hold which child’s clothes. I want to be able to walk through rooms without bumping into furniture.

So, yep, I’m freaking out a bit and my mind is, once again, zooming in a million directions as I try and figure out how we are going to successfully fit a family of six in our less than 1100 sqft house.

It’s funny, when you want something so badly, you feel like it will never happen. I’m feeling a bit that way this week. Any day now, I should be getting a call from my doctor’s office to set up an ultrasound. This isn’t like the ultrasounds I have already had, this is The Big One: The one where they look closely to see if there are any deformities or reasons to be concerned for the babies’ health. The ultrasound where, assuming the babies are cooperating, we get to find out if we’re having a Zander and Madeline, Madeline and Payton, or Zander and Wyatt.

And, if it’s anything like my dreams as of late, where I’ll find out there’s a third baby hiding in there. (I know, there isn’t, but dang those pregnancy dreams are vivid!)

Originally, I had intended to opt out of the Quad Screen, a blood test that determines if I’m a potential carrier of a variety of genetic disorders, like I did with Bug and Bean. My thought being, I’m not going to terminate a baby who has a genetic disorder, such as Down Syndrome. However, my doctor mentioned that if the test comes back with some abnormalities, that he wants to send me to a more high-tech ultrasound office out of our town. He said that the likelihood of getting abnormal results is higher since I’m having twins, though it probably won’t mean anything. I figured, I’d rather be safe than sorry and get the higher-tech ultrasound, if need be.

So, I wait for the call. Any day now.

Another thing I’m anxiously awaiting is the results to the recent short story contest. I know it isn’t going to be this week, but I have a feeling we’ll find out any time when to expect the results by. I’m on pins and needles! I put a lot into the stories I wrote, and I really want to know how the judges are going to receive them.

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Grrr, I hate having to be patient!

Not to get all Oprah-y on you, but I firmly believe in the idea that there are subtle knocks on the door of our lives, and when we ignore them they turn into louder knocks, only to become the door crashing down in front of us if we fail to answer.

I think I have reached one of those moments in my life.

This past August, I took part in my first-ever fiction short story contest. I was certain I was going to place. Too certain, in fact. Cocky beyond cocky. When the results day arrived and I hadn’t even placed, I was crushed, my ego blown to smithereens. I cried. Really, seriously cried both for shame over my blind self-centeredness and for sadness over putting so much of myself into a story, only to have it rejected.

Owie, was my ego ever bruised.

But, even to my own surprise, this rejection made me even more motivated to kick ass in the next contest. This time, I tweaked areas that I was told weren’t good. I focused on my story line and grammar. I reached out for help with critiques from my fellow forum members. This time, I truly appreciated the talent of the writers submitting to the contest and stifled my ego, choosing instead to remain cautiously optimistic. This time, I took first, then repeated the feat in the next contest.

Now, please know, this is not me bragging. The competition is fierce and I will never again underestimate my fellow writers. I’m simply saying that I am super duper motivated to continue trying, tweaking my stories, attempting new genres and themes that I had never thought to try before. I read the stories of fellow writers and am awed at the creativity that goes into their stories. I often find myself thinking, “Wow, I don’t think I would have ever, in a million years, thought of that.”

I digress (of course, because that’s what I do)…

Back to the knocking.

So, occasionally, often after these contests are over, individuals mention that they think I should write a novel. I smile, nod, and assume they’re just trying to be nice. I mean, me? The author of a novel? Pshyeah, okay.

But, I think each one of those suggestions was a subtle knock.

In January, I started working on my most recent entries, for The Past, The Present, and The Future. I wanted so desperately to continue writing those stories. I didn’t want to let my characters go, wasn’t quite ready for “The End” when I ran out of the alloted number of words. I wanted more. Truly, I wanted to write novels. Another, louder, knock.

Today, the knocking turned into fists pummeling my door. Today, three people, two from my writer’s forum and one former classmate friend, told me, “You should really write a novel” along with other wonderful, uplifting comments about my writing. Three people. Just today.

I think that’s a sign that maybe I should listen and open that door.

I have a novel in the works for pre-teens that I most definitely want and need to finish first. But then, I think I want to do something more adult, more like the short stories I have been writing. I know an idea will come to me, they always do, so I’m not worried about that in the least. I’m simply excited to get started and see where it takes me.

It’s funny, I always thought the idea of a short story with 7,500 maximum words sounded daunting and unattainable. Now, I reach 7,500 words and I think, “Dang, I have to stop?” It’s almost like these short story contests were half-marathons, training me, leading me up to the big marathon that I apparently need to be involved in.

I am so, so excited.

Wow, it has almost been a week since I last blogged?! What an awful, slacker blogger I am! A thousand apologies, but my guess is, with two kids running around, two in-utero, and a short story to wrap up for the contest, you all understand, right?

On with business.

Everyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for two things: 1. Good, tongue in cheek comedy and 2. Musicals. I love musicals. Everything about them makes me grin. Though I do enjoy the older musicals like Annie and The Music Man, among others, I truly love current renditions of traditional musicals.

For instance, The Phantom of the Opera (okay, so part opera, part musical, but still) was superb. The music sucked me in, held me captive, and made me want to watch the movie and listen to the soundtrack over and over again. Then, there is Rent. What an amazing musical that is! Though I haven’t had the opportunity to see it on or off Broadway (as a matter of fact, the only one I have seen off-Broadway was Annie), I thoroughly enjoyed the movie and have listened to the Broadway soundtrack. The message, and the music, are still so powerful, even without seeing it live.

These are only two examples of amazing musicals, in my opinion.

Then, Dr. Horrible came into my world.

Of course, I really shouldn’t be lining Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog with musicals such as Rent and Phantom, but it holds its own place in my musical-loving, comedy-appreciating heart.

Joss Whedon, the creator of shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and Firefly, teamed up with his brothers Zack and Jed Whedon as well as close friend Maurissa Tancharoen to create Dr. Horrible, a superhero spoof comedy, during the writer’s strike last year.

The best part?

It went on the web for free. Not even a single click-through ad. How cool is that?!

It stars the ever-talented Neil Patrick Harris, Nathan Fillion (Castle, Firefly), and Felicia Day, who make the movie the cheesy, sentimental, and often comical musical it is. I have a soft spot for it because I think Neil Patrick Harris is not only completely delicious (yeah, I know he’s gay), but stunningly talented. Plus, I love that the entire musical is based around Dr. Horrible’s video blog entries. Too creative!

Wanna see it?

It’s still free. And, it’s only 40 minutes long, though I’m certain you’ll wish it was longer.

One warning, before you watch: You will have many of the songs stuck in your head for days and will probably have to watch it again to laugh at the best lines over and over again.

Welcome to hilarity: Here’s Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog on Hulu.com!

I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think.

“Freeze Ray, tell your friends.”

Let me take you back to a particularly hilarious April Fools Day in 1996. My family and my best friend’s family were staying at a cabin on the beach for several days, having a wonderful time, joking around, having way more freedom than we normally had. On April Fools, my friend Kristen, her brother Alex, and I decided to try to play pranks on our parents throughout the entire day.

We tied a rubber band to the spray nozzle on the faucet so that it sprayed at the next person to turn it on.

They didn’t fall for it.

I remember we talked of messing with a batch of brownies, but I don’t think we went through with it.

We made different outrageous comments, trying to pull them off as truths so we could yell, “April Fools!”

But our zeal was deflated when they would say, “April Fools!” before we could.

We waited for our parents to retaliate. They promised that it would be good. The entire day passed and they made no attempt at a joke, a prank, or anything remotely April Fools-y.

It was a weeknight and the sun had set. Alex, Kristen and I asked if we could take a walk along the beach. They said, “Sure, go ahead.” (I waited for the “April Fools!” at this point, but nope, they were really cool with the idea.)

We walked, we laughed and joked around, a little too loud for the hour. Several houses down from our cabin, a man stepped out onto his porch and yelled, “Hey, you kids! You have no respect for others, yelling at this hour! Did it ever cross your mind that some people might have to work in the morning?”

No, actually it didn’t. Woops!

We brushed it off with a laugh, but I felt awful. I honestly didn’t think about how our voices would carry so close to the water and the fact that not everyone else was on Spring Break.

When we arrived back at the cabin, we told our parents what happened. They listened patiently and didn’t yell at us for being inconsiderate.

Surely, that was the April Fools, right? I mean, we should have gotten into a little trouble for being so loud? ran through my head.

The suspense of waiting for their April Fools prank was driving me insane.

About thirty minutes later, the phone rang. My dad was in the kitchen, grabbing something out of the fridge, and my mom was next to the phone.

“Hello?”

She listened.

“Yes, we have three teenagers right here that were just walking on the beach.”

Silence. Kristen, Alex, and I stared at eachother in horror.

“Um, Alex is 16 and Kristen and Lindsay are 13. I don’t think they meant any harm, officer-”

Officer? Oh crap we’re in trouble.

I think at this point I may have pooped my pants. Just a little. (K, not really.)

“No, no need to press charges, we’ll make sure they’re disciplined for their actions. Sorry for the disruption.”

She hung up the phone and stared intently at us.

“That was the police,” she said, but I don’t think she got much further than that before she, my dad, and Kristen and Alex’s mom burst into laughter.

My dad came back in from the kitchen, old school flip cell-phone in his hands and near-tears laughter in his eyes. He had been hiding behind the refigerator door the entire time after dialing the cabin’s phone number.

“April Fools!” they yelled.

I think we laughed, but we were so stunned, I believe it took a second for it to sink in that we weren’t in trouble with the police. If I remember correctly it was Alex who said, “Wow, you guys got us good.”

Damn, they totally did.

March has not been a very good month for me, and it all came to a head just a few minutes ago when my kids woke up from their naps.

Bug climbed down from his new bunk bed, opened the door, and heard Bean making noises in the room across from him where she had been napping. He opened the door and then came running to find me.

“Mommy, Yee yee stinks,” he informed me.

“She does? Did she poop?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“Do you want to change her?”

“No! I not a baby diaper!”

(Which I took to mean, “No! That’s your job, nutso!”)

I walked down the hall and sure enough, the scent of poo came wafting into my nostrils. Not just any poo, either, the really messy kind.

I enter the room and there’s Bean, a serious look on her face, and no diaper on her butt. She is pointing at the diaper on the floor of the playpen.

“Mmboodisp!” she vehemently exclaims.

I interpret this as “You took too long to get here, so I took matters into my own hands, lady!”

Caked all over Bean’s butt, hands, face, clothes, blankets… everything is poop. Nasty, nasty poop.

I wiped her down, plopped her in the tub, and chucked everything she and I were wearing into the wash. Ew. Ew. Ew!

Still, I had to chuckle. March has not been friendly to me. (For instance, my Pregnancy Nightmares, Springing Forward, having to overhaul an entire short story, being sicker than sick for a large chunk of the month, and falling on my ass yesterday)  So, I figure this was the perfect send off to a slightly frustrating month.

On that note… April is going to rock!

You’d think, after all my years of clumsiness, I would remember how much it hurts to fall on concrete. You’d also think, given the fact that I have been walking for at least 25 years now, that I would be able to do so without incident. And yet, I am constantly tripping and occasionally falling on my face.

Today was a particularly frightening fall. I was leaving a friend’s house, after a lovely morning of girl chatting, kids screaming and playing, lots of great fun. My mind was focused on getting the kids home, certain that today both of my kids were going to nap at the same time. (I was incredibly giddy over that thought.) In my hopeful nap time reverie, I missed a concrete step, toppled down into more concrete, and banged up my knee and hand pretty good.

To make matters worse, in my arms was my 23 pounds of beautifulness, Bean. I watched in horrific slow motion while she also fell backward, out of my arms, and smacked her head on the concrete. She took the brunt of the fall, and I feel so awful!

We went back inside, cleaned up, got a gummi bear treat to stop crying (Bean, not me, though I wouldn’t have minded a gummi bear treat), and headed for home. Bean fell asleep on the ride home, since she absolutely refuses to skip a nap time, and I worried a little about her and her recent head injury. At home, I put Bug down for a nap, and thankfully he fell asleep almost immediately. I initially had Bean in the other room, but decided I felt better if I was holding her while she slept.

The left side of my pelvis started aching, and I started getting some cramping along the bottom of my belly. Friends kept asking if I had called the doctor and I thought, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea, just in case.”

I called my OB and they told me to come in ASAP.

I called Bean’s doctor and they asked me a bunch of questions about how she was doing. (Is she eating? Like a pig. Are her eyes dialated to different sizes? Nope. Did she lose consciousness? No. Is she abnormally irritable? Only when I poke at the bump on her head. (I’m kidding, I wouldn’t do that to her!)) In the end, they told me not to worry about bringing her in unless her symptoms changed.

My wonderful neighbor came over with his son and hung out while I went to my OB’s office. That was, by far, the quickest appointment I have ever had! I was in the waiting room all of two minutes and seen by the doctor maybe four minutes after that. I guess when you’re pregnant and take a nasty spill, you get high-class treatment!

The OB hooked up the ultrasound machine, though before he put the wand on my belly, he mentioned if there was something wrong, that there wasn’t anything we could do about it.

Okay, love my OB and the fact that he gives me all the facts, but I was not in a fact receiving mood at the moment. Some things are better left unsaid. But, he’s a good guy, so I forgive him.

He checked out both babies, and they were there in all their wiggling, healthy heartbeating glory. Initially, one of the twins was positioned with his butt to the ultrasound wand. I thought that was pretty hilarious. Who knew I would get mooned by my unborn child today?

The only thing he did say that causes me very slight worry, is that I am not out of the woods for a couple of days. He said if they’re still in there, happy and healthy after a couple of days, everything is fine, but until then, there’s still a chance of something happening. But, he did emphasize that because I didn’t fall directly onto my belly, the chances of anything being wrong after seeing the babies today are quite slim. Phew.

When all was said and done, I begged my doctor for a prescription for a wheelchair for the rest of my pregnancy.

“I am not safe walking when I’m not pregnant,” I explained. “I’m a full-blown disaster when I am.”

Can you believe he wouldn’t give me a wheelchair prescription?! The nerve…

Alright, so I suppose I couldn’t hang out in a wheelchair and take care of my 3-year-old and 1-year-old.  Maybe it’s best that he denied my request.

So, what was initially a pretty frightening afternoon turned out okay. Especially after that whole Natasha Richardson thing, I was pretty worried about my little Bean’s noggin. I’m very thankful that everything turned out okay for all three of my babies.

There are so many random things I wonder about on a day-to-day basis. For instance: Why do so many maternity shirts have that blasted tie in the back? This is one very serious thing I wonder about, especially when I’m forced to wear said shirts. Honestly, do pregnant women not sit down? Do we not drive cars? Why must we wear these shirts that tie in the back, leaving this horribly uncomfortable knot that digs squarely into the spine?

As if we’re not already uncomfortable enough, lugging around water weight, baby weight, and a baby or two…

And along the lines of being pregnant, I have often found myself wondering about male OB doctors. Specifically those that are married.

You know how, when you have a job, you find yourself relieved when you go home and don’t have to think about work anymore?

Does that happen to male OBs? I mean, their job is, essentially, vaginas. Pregnant ones, postpartum ones, ones that are trying to prevent pregnancy, others that are too old to get pregnant… but all day long, he’s looking at cooch. So, what I wonder (though maybe I’m a little off my rocker for even remotely wondering this), is does he feel like it’s work still when he goes home to his wife?

“Honey, I’ve been waiting for you to get home all day,” she says, dressed in sexy lingerie. “I have a little surprise for you in the bedroom.”

“Yeah, that’s okay,” he coldly dismisses her. “I’ve been looking at va-jay-jays all day long, I’m good.”

Seriously, think about it!

Though, the part of me that knows some of the mental workings of the male species, also knows that they would probably not turn down sex with their wife, ever.

Then, there are other, less intense thoughts that go through my mind.

Like, why does the Dollar Store put out ads? I mean, really. Everybody knows where the Dollar Store is in their town and knows exactly what they’ll find there. Better yet, they know exactly how much they’re going to pay for anything they get at the Dollar Store. Uhm, a dollar. So, why do they need to put out ads in the mail? Hm.

There’s also the concept of Disney’s “Fast Play” on their DVDs. According to the DVD announcer, “Fast Play” will play a selection of bonus features (yeah, bonus features my ass, they’re all previews), and then roll right into the movie automatically. I’m sorry, but to me, “Fast Play” means that the movie is going to start now, not after ten minutes of previews. They should change the name to “Eventual Play” or “A freebie ten minutes added to your movie without having to mess with the menu screen where your kid is going to whine that he wants every movie played in the trailers.”

Once upon a time, my mind was consumed with work, finishing college, and taking exams. Now, these are the things that consume my mind. What in the world have I become?

Oh, right. A mom.