The Suburban Princess Diaries

my unintended absence.

2012-02-11T16:14:00.001-06:00

This one post has taken me over a month to write.

Things keep happening, and I haven’t been able to sit in front of a computer long enough to blog.

For instance, in the past month I have been hospitalized three times.

The first time, I spent the last hours of 2011 in the Labor & Delivery unit at the local hospital, being treated for more preterm labor.

Preterm labor that was triggered by another freaking kidney stone.

Surprise, surprise.

Since then, I have passed two more kidney stones.

Unfortunately, my medical issues didn’t end there.

A few weeks later, I ended up back at the hospital for a three night stay with a stomach virus that left me and the baby dangerously dehydrated.

While I was being treated, my blood tests started coming back strange and the doctor began to suspect that I might have a blood clot.

He ordered a CT scan and, thankfully, the results came back normal.

Then just last Tuesday, I was back in for more preterm labor.

And now I’m far enough that the doctors won’t stop it, but I’m not yet at term, so they won’t help it along either.

So I’m stuck in early latent labor limbo: contracting, effacing, dilating and feeling totally miserable.

At least this means I’ll probably have another lightening-fast active labor.

If that isn’t enough insanity, there has also been a bunch of stuff going on with the kids. Daegan just celebrated his first birthday and Bronx finally has a preliminary diagnosis. (More about that in an upcoming post.)

Needless to say, it’s been busy around here.

And that’s something that isn’t about to change anytime soon.

Especially since we are probably only a few days away now from having another baby in the house.

Merry & Bright.

2011-12-24T08:22:00.001-06:00

My Epic (Holiday) Fail.

2011-12-22T13:07:00.001-06:00

This year, I somehow surmised that it would be a good idea for me and Kamryn to make a gingerbread house for Christmas.

I’ve never made one before, and it seemed like a fun activity that could turn into an annual family holiday tradition.

Oh, and how I love traditions.

So yesterday, we broke out the store-bought kit that I bought a few weeks ago and got to work at the kitchen table.

The construction phase seemed to be going well, until I tried to get the house to fit into the plastic tray from the kit.

It didn’t work. And when I tried to push it…

the entire thing fell apart.

And the front and back of the gingerbread house cracked into pieces.

From that point on, we weren’t working with just any gingerbread house.

We were building the Griswold Gingerbread House.

Ugh. Go figure. It looked so easy on the box.

The problems didn’t end there. Only a few minutes later, we suffered a fatality.

During the panic and chaos (and mild swearing) that occurred in the aftermath of the gingerbread house collapse, Kamryn accidentally dropped the house’s owner, Mr. Gingerbread Man.

Sadly, our cookie friend had to be discarded in the kitchen trash can.

May he rest in two delicious pieces at the bottom of a 13-gallon Hefty bag.

After all the tragedy, it seemed like there might not be any hope for our little house.

Until I decided to try using graham crackers as reinforcing structural supports.

That, combined with a little extra frosting to patch up the broken pieces…

And our (most likely to be deemed uninhabitable) gingerbread house was finally standing.

Once we decorated the thing, it actually didn’t turn out as horrible as I thought it would.

It was actually, dare I say it….

…kind of cute?

But because it isn’t exactly structurally sound, we hired someone to keep an eye on the place.

There’s something about having Batman on the job that makes us feel all warm and fuzzy.

I think the gingerbread house will be safe now until Sunday.

Unless the kids eat it before then.

More bad news.

2011-12-20T12:15:00.001-06:00

I got the results back yesterday.

And I failed my three-hour glucose test miserably.

So this year, I’m getting my second round of gestational diabetes for Christmas.

Thanks, Santa.

Now I get to spend the holidays reacquainting myself with all my old diabetic paraphernalia.

6 bags of needles, 1 box of lancets, 2 glucose meters, one hundred test strips…

and a partridge in a pear tree.

Daegan’s Intervention.

2011-12-13T19:00:00.001-06:00

In case the title didn’t tip you off, things have been nothing but chaos around here lately.

I now have two children seeing healthcare specialists, one child attending two preschools (one morning and one afternoon) and I’m still pregnant with number four.

Which means you can throw in bi-weekly OB visits (with increasing blood pressure measurements and a impending three hour glucose test) on top of everything else.

Busy doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Unfortunately, just as we are starting to get somewhere with the endocrinologist and Bronx’s latest test results, another medical issue is now beginning with Daegan.

He’s been seeing a pediatric gastroenterologist for the past month, since his nine month checkup revealed that he had been losing weight.

Surprise, surprise. The doctor couldn’t find any G.I. issues that would explain the weight loss.

So, no definite answers for why he is so small.

On top of that, Daegan has missed several important milestones. At ten and a half months, he still cannot sit by himself, cannot push himself onto his arms when on his tummy, and his head control is not as strong as it should be.

Because he is falling behind, his regular pediatrician referred us to an early intervention therapy team who came to our house to evaluate him.

The reports they sent back to us were more than just a little concerning.

Daegan is developmentally delayed. In all areas.

I wasn’t expecting him to be so far behind. It was a bit of a shock to hear that he was almost 50% delayed in motor development and between 15-30% delayed in all other development.

Based on the results, he will be starting physical therapy and developmental therapy in the next few weeks.

That’s not the most alarming part of all of this though.

The therapists and the gastroenterologist have all mentioned that Daegan has overall muscle weakness.

And remember how he was born with ptosis? That condition is caused by muscle weakness as well.

Based on the muscle issues, our pediatrician is now referring Daegan to a pediatric neurologist to determine if the muscle weakness is being caused by a dystrophy or some other muscle disease.

But that doctor is booked until after the holidays, so we have a little bit of a wait until we can even start investigating this new issue.

Between now and then we have another visit to the ophthalmologist (not sure how that is going to go now that we know his muscle weakness extends far beyond just his left eyelid) and we have two different forms of therapy starting.

At least we’ll be staying busy during the wait.

Serenity.

2011-11-20T19:49:00.001-06:00

( Note: I would have posted this sooner, but I won an overnight stay in the hospital this weekend in the Labor and Delivery unit for preterm labor brought on by extreme dehydration from a nasty stomach virus.

Thankfully, I’m back at home now and the baby and I are both doing well.

So now I can get back to blogging... )

Ever since those red flags showed up on my anatomy ultrasound awhile back, I’ve been under close monitoring by the maternal-fetal medicine department at the hospital.

The upside of this is that I was able to get some extra ultrasounds, which means more baby viewing time for me. The downside is that these people like to make me panic.

And panic I did.

After the initial ultrasound, I freaked. I read every medical journal study involving the correlation between short nasal bones and Down’s Syndrome.

Most of what I read was reassuring. But still, I couldn’t shake my anxiety. I have never had anything even remotely concerning show up during any of my ultrasounds when I was pregnant with the boys, so this was all completely new for me.

And all I could do was worry.

For almost a week, I barely slept. I had panic attacks where I felt like my heart was pounding through my chest and I could barely breathe. I was constantly on edge, consumed by the terrifying thought that there might be something wrong with my baby.

It was an awful week.

Then, at my next OB appointment, I told the doctor that I was stressed out over the anatomy scan. He pulled up the report that maternal-fetal medicine had sent to him and showed it to me.

Based on my age alone, MFM had determined that my risk of having a baby with Down’s was 1:3760.

After my ultrasound, when they discovered that the baby’s nasal bone was measuring short, the risk was adjusted.

To 1:3700.

I was stunned and incredibly relieved to see that the numbers had not changed significantly.

The report alone did not ease my mind completely. I still needed to get through a quad screen and another ultrasound to determine if we might need an amnio.

The quad screen came back normal. It has a 75-80% rate of detecting neural tube defects and Down’s Syndrome. Based on the results of the screen, my risk of a neural tube defect is 1:2074 and my risk of Down’s Syndrome is 1:767.

According to the doctor at maternal-fetal medicine, the normal cutoff for Down’s risk on a quad screen is 1:270.

My results were way above the cutoff. The odds are in our favor.

I had two more ultrasounds with maternal-fetal medicine. The first one showed that the cyst in her brain (despite what the doctor had said during the first visit, the report stated there was only one cyst) had disappeared.

The scan also revealed that her nasal bone had grown since the last ultrasound. This was particularly reassuring, since short nasal bones in babies with DS don’t grow with gestational age.

Another ultrasound a few weeks later confirmed that her nasal bone was continuing to grow. She also is measuring right on target everywhere else.

It’s highly likely that we will be having a healthy baby girl.

And since my last ultrasound was in 3D, I also got a peek at just how beautiful she is.

Now I just can’t wait to meet her.

It’s happening again.

2011-11-15T21:10:00.001-06:00

Daegan just recently went to his nine month checkup at the doctor’s office.

His weigh-in didn’t go so well.

In the past three months he has lost well over a pound, and now, at nine months old, he only weighs a few ounces over 12 pounds.

He weighs exactly what he weighed when he was four months old. Five months ago.

He’s super tiny…just like his big brother, Bronx.

So now the cycle of tests and specialists starts all over again for us.

And in addition to that, a developmental interventionist has been scheduled to come visit him later this week because he still can’t sit up on his own.

It seems like my babies are trying to stay babies forever around here.

The Final IntelliGender Experiment.

2011-10-27T20:23:00.001-05:00

I finally got a chance to take the third test that I received from IntelliGender.

A test that I was only taking because I had already taken two tests during this pregnancy with very different results.

This third test was going to be the tiebreaker.

Just to recap:

Test #1 predicted I was having a girl.

Test #2 predicted a boy.

At this point, I was really starting to think that maybe the accurate results that I had gotten with the two tests during my last pregnancy were just a fluke. With two different results for the same pregnancy, it was beginning to look like I had inadvertently proven that IntelliGender was a 50/50 thing. A product of junk science that wasn’t any more reliable than flipping a coin.

But then, I found out just a couple of days after taking the second test that I had a UTI/kidney infection.

And that there was a significant amount of blood in my urine.

So I had to wait for the infection and the antibiotics that I had to take for it to clear out of my system before I could take the third test.

During that wait, I had the ultrasound that confirmed I am having a girl.

I knew going into the third test that the initial IntelliGender prediction had been correct. Which made me wonder if that false boy result had occurred because of all the blood in my urine.

I took the third test the day after my course of antibiotics ended.

It gave me another girl result, which leads me to believe that my theory is correct.

I think that there is some degree of validity to the IntelliGender test.

Out of a total of five tests across two different pregnancies with fetuses of different genders, four of the tests (two for each pregnancy) have yielded accurate results.

The only time I had an inaccurate result, there was something in my urine that quite possibly could have interfered with the test.

And considering the fact that UTI’s are quite common in pregnancy, I’m wondering if this is something that contributes to at least some of the results being wrong for some women.

With that in mind, my conclusion is that if the test directions are followed precisely and there is nothing out of the ordinary present in the urine sample, the outcome of the test should be pretty reliable.

I think that they have finally made the skeptic in me a believer.

Prince or Princess?

2011-10-18T23:15:00.001-05:00

That Level II ultrasound that I had last week wasn’t all about unsettling findings.

The 70/30 gender odds that we were given during my previous ultrasound was just too much of a temptation. We HAD to find out the sex of this baby.

So we told the tech that we wanted to know.

And the first thing she did was try to get a shot of the goods.

I saw it right away and before she had the chance to say it aloud, I knew that the previous tech had been right with his 70% sure guess.

This tech said that she would say 100% sure, but since she’s not allowed to say that for liability reasons, we had to go with 99.9%.

So now we have official confirmation that…

It’s a GIRL!

And because I had to have proof… I got this.

She circled the “three lines” (that’s the girl parts) and she even typed out the word “girl”.

I think it’s a pretty sure thing.

We’re finally getting a princess!

Fear Factors.

2011-10-17T21:38:00.001-05:00

I had a Level II ultrasound last week, and it didn’t go quite as well as I expected.

The ultrasound tech was great. Unlike some of the others I’ve encountered in the past, she never turned the screen away from me so I was able to watch the entire scan.

And everything was completely routine until she asked if I had had an NT scan during my first trimester.

I explained to her that I had not had one, even though I had tried to schedule one when I was at my nine week appointment, but the doctor said it wasn’t necessary because I was low risk and had healthy children.

As soon as she started asking about the NT scan, I knew something was up.

But she went on with the ultrasound without any further explanation.

Towards the end of the scan, she couldn’t get a view of the baby’s back, so she told me I would need to come back for another ultrasound.

Then the doctor came in to talk with us.

She said that there are a few, tiny choroid plexus cysts in the baby’s brain.

She said that normally these go away by 21-22 weeks and that it doesn’t affect the baby.

I had heard of this cyst thing before, so when I was talking with the doctor I didn’t get too alarmed.

But then she started asking if anyone in my family has a short nose. I wasn’t exactly sure what she was talking about or why it would matter, so I just kind of started rambling.

It turns out, the baby also has a short nasal bone. She said that when the nasal bone is missing, they get concerned about Down’s Syndrome. She said that because my nose is short, (and there are a few other people in the family with shorter noses) it’s probably fine and that there shouldn’t be any reason to worry.

So I didn’t worry…at least not at first.

But then I went home and started consulting Google Howser, M.D.

I should have known better.

What I initially found scared the pants off of me.

There is a lot of information on the internet about choroid plexus cysts (CPC’s) being a marker for Down’s Syndrome. I started getting really worried after that, thinking that maybe my baby had two soft markers for Down’s on the ultrasound. After a little more research in medical texts and journals, I found that CPC’s are only a soft marker for Trisomy 18 (Edward’s Syndrome) and not Trisomy 21 (Down’s Syndrome).

From what I understand, one of the characteristics of Edward’s Syndrome is that the baby cannot unclench it’s hands. Since I have a clear sonogram of the baby with it’s hand open, and the doctor never mentioned anything about Edward’s Syndrome, I think it’s safe to rule that out.

CPC’s are common in healthy babies and most experts are starting to believe that they are normal part of fetal development.

So, as scary as the choroid plexus cyst sounds, I’ve come to the conclusion that I really shouldn’t let it worry me.

Hopefully they will have resolved by the time I get my next ultrasound.

The part that I’m still slightly nervous about is the short nasal bone.

In the absence of other makers, it really could be that the baby has just inherited a small nose. And from what I’ve found on Google, many mothers who are told during their ultrasound that their baby has a short nasal bone just have healthy babies with small noses.

But while an absent nasal bone is considered a “hard marker” for Down’s Syndrome, it seems that the jury is still out on whether or not a short nasal bone is a strong marker or not. It does seem to be a bit of a red flag though.

The rational side of me realizes that in all probability, things are probably fine. The baby is most likely completely chromosomally normal and healthy.

However, now that the Pandora’s Box of “what-if’s” has been opened, I’m not sure I’ll be able to completely relax until the baby’s born.

Because even though I do have a quad screen scheduled in just a few days and another ultrasound next week, they will only be able to tell me if my risk for chromosomal abnormalities is higher or lower.

The only way I can know for sure is an amniocentesis.

So while I’m trying my best to convince myself that everything is most likely okay, I’m still a bit of an anxious mess.

Entertaining the Laws of Probability.

2011-10-13T22:22:00.001-05:00

I ended up at the hospital last week after having some scary preterm labor issues.

After a lovely overnight stay filled with blood tests, ultrasounds and intravenous drugs, the doctor on call finally concluded that I had a UTI-turned-kidney infection.

And that was causing me to have contractions.

In the process of solving that mystery, something unexpected happened.

The ultrasound tech gave me his opinion about the baby’s gender.

And he said he was 70% sure that the baby is a…

Well, I’m not going to say which gender he was 70% in favor of.

Because 70% isn’t exactly a sure thing.

What’s weird is that I have never had an ultrasound tech give me a percentage. They’ve always just called out the baby’s sex with confidence. Or simply said that they couldn’t tell.

This newest revelation, in addition to the conflicting Intelligender tests, has really started to make my head spin.

I think I’m going to have to find out now…

This is One Doodle that Can't Be Un-did, Homeskillet.

2011-10-11T19:51:00.001-05:00

I was downtown a few nights back on my way to a hair appointment.

Normally, this would probably be uneventful, but that same night the local high school was having it’s annual homecoming parade.

Judging by the crowded turnout, I guess it’s a pretty big deal around here.

The floats were all lined up on the same street as the salon I was going to, so much to my dismay, I had to park about four blocks away and walk past all the parked floats.

Floats filled with bored, loud, obnoxious high schoolers.

It was just starting to occur to me that these kids were over a decade younger than me when I hear this:

“Hey! It’s JUNO!”

It was one of the float kids. Yelling, and I can only assume because I was the lone young-looking and visibly pregnant girl on the sidewalk, in reference to me.

Which was immediately followed by a small crowd of kids chanting,

“JUNO. JUNO. JUNO. JUNO!”

OMG. They probably thought I went to school with them.

I called my husband and told him what was happening.

He suggested that I holler back and ask them if they have any Sunny D.

Seriously, I’m not a fan of teenagers.

Even Weirder Science.

2011-10-03T23:28:00.001-05:00

After I took that IntelliGender test and got an unexpected result, I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to confirm it with a second test.

Curiosity got the best of me.

That, and my obsession with bathroom-based lab experiments. Oh, and the unbelievable coupon to an online store that I found in my email inbox, which brought the price of the second test down enough that it was just begging me to buy it.

Plus, after the two tests that I took during my last pregnancy turned out to be 100% accurate, I was starting to believe that the test this time around might have some validity.

But…the scientist in me still had doubts. Mainly, because even after a ton of online research, I still have no idea how the darn thing works.

IntelliGender explains it on their blog like this:

“IntelliGender's Gender Prediction Test is a simple urine analysis similar to the pregnancy test you took a few weeks ago. It uses first morning urine and a proprietary mix of chemicals which reacts with a combination of hormones to indicate the gender of your baby. It is an easy test to perform and provides quick results in-home so the news can be shared right away.”

Needless to say, it’s a little vague. They don’t state what chemicals mix with which hormones.

And since I can’t figure out how the test works, I reverted back to the scientific method.

I concluded that if I got another girl result, the original result would be somewhat confirmed.

So I tested…

And apparently, in only four short weeks, IntelliGender has changed it’s mind in regards to the sex of our unborn child.

Just for reference, here is a side-by-side of my first test compared with this one.

They couldn’t be more different.

I have to admit, I was really shocked. After the results of all my other tests, I was starting to think that maybe this IntelliGender test really had some merit.

I emailed IntelliGender to see what they had to say about the discrepancy between the two tests.

The customer service representative that wrote me back seemed just as confused as I was. She said that it was very rare for an expectant mother to get two different results.

To solve this mystery, they are sending me another test.

And so, the laboratory saga continues…

The Girl Who Never Made Mistakes

2011-10-03T11:06:00.001-05:00

And no. We’re not talking about me here.

Because we all know that I have made my fair share of messes.

Actually, I’m referring to a new children’s book that Sourcebooks was nice enough to send me for review, The Girl Who Never Made Mistakes, by Mark Pett and Gary Rubinstein.

I have to say, I was really impressed by this book. The story is cute and the illustrations are beautiful. Most importantly, it was a hit with the kids. I read it with my son at bedtime and it ended up taking forever because he insisted that I read it over and over and over again.

We went through it together, cover-to-cover four times before I finally threw in the towel and told him to go to sleep.

But he just couldn’t get enough. Especially when the story includes a hamster being juggled.

Which is silly enough to even make me giggle a little.

Why I Don’t Want to Know.

2011-09-19T19:08:00.001-05:00

Yes. You read that right.

A huge (and growing) part of me does not want to find out the gender of this baby until I am in the delivery room.

And it’s not for the reason that you might think.

Because despite what IntelliGender has predicted, I still think that there is a very real possibility that we could be having yet another beautiful, bouncing baby boy.

And I am perfectly fine with that.

Even though I already have three little boys, I am genuinely excited to be expecting another addition to our family, regardless of gender.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like anyone else is going to be as unconditionally accepting of this baby as my husband and I are.

Seriously.

It’s still hard for me to believe the way that people are reacting to the news of my pregnancy with our fourth child.

Because whenever we have announced it, the first question out of everyone’s mouth is if we know what we are having.

And when we tell them no, they always tell me that they hope (or they “just know”) that it’s a girl this time.

Which makes me realize that when I do reveal the gender to those who are curious, things are going to go one of two ways.

Either I’m having a girl and it’s going to be one great big party…

Or I’m having a boy and people are going to inevitably say “Oh no! Not another one!”. tell me how sorry they are and give me sympathy.

Like someone died.

And I can’t handle that.

I can’t handle the fact that other people might be disappointed if my baby is the “wrong” gender.

The pressure on me to produce a baby girl this time around is just too ridiculous.

It makes me not want to find out. My anatomy scan is just weeks away and I am fairly certain that I do not want the ultrasound technician to tell me the sex of the baby.

Because if I don’t know, then I don’t have to tell anyone.

And in this situation, ignorance really does seem more like bliss.

The IntelliGender Verdict is in!

2011-09-12T23:01:00.001-05:00

Ready for a little more bathroom chemistry?

I know I am!

Lucky for me, IntelliGender was nice enough to let me review their Gender Prediction Test again for this pregnancy.

This test is fascinating to me. It’s a simple urine test that claims to be 90% accurate (in laboratory trials) at predicting the gender of your baby as early as 10 weeks.

I admit, I was skeptical the first time I tried this during my last pregnancy.

Skeptical…until I found out that my result turned out to be completely accurate.

Although, even after the ultrasound confirmed that the IntelliGender test had been right, the cynical side of me still had doubts.

Until I took the test a second time. And got the same results.

And several months later I did indeed give birth to this little (all boy) bundle of joy…

Now that I’m pregnant yet again, I was beyond excited to have the chance to use this test one more time. (It is just so much fun!)

I took it at 14 weeks. I got up early in the morning, followed the instructions exactly and then spent the next five minutes trying not to peek and anxiously awaiting the results.

Even though I was fairly sure that I knew what those results were going to be.

But then IntelliGender said that I am having a…

I couldn’t believe it.

I took a bunch of pictures of the result and I analyzed the bottle and all of the photos several times. I was so surprised by the outcome that I started to think that maybe I was misreading the results.

Just to be absolutely sure, I did a side-by-side comparison of my “boy” results from my last pregnancy and my “girl” results from this one.

I’m pretty sure at this point that my color interpretations are correct.

Let’s just say that this has just made things a lot more interesting.

Especially since, given our track record, the hubby and I were practically assuming that this new baby was a boy until proven otherwise.

Maybe our assumptions are wrong.

I guess we will know soon enough…

Dissecting the Digital.

2011-09-09T19:39:00.000-05:00

Ah, yes. The mad scientist in me has returned.

(Insert crazy, maniacal laugh here).

This really shouldn’t be much of a surprise. You had to have known from my previous experiments that once I wound up pregnant again it would only be a matter of time before I turned my bathroom back into a makeshift laboratory.

It seems that I have a slight addiction to at-home pseudo-chemistry.

So, for this round of science fun, I decided to take apart my digital pregnancy tests.

Something that the instructions tell you to NEVER, EVER do.

The reasoning behind this is that most women (including myself) will endlessly scrutinize the results of their HPT’s, until their eyes start to burn from staring at the stick. This is why the standard line tests are so much fun. The lines (or lack thereof) can sometimes be open to interpretation.

The digital is much more straightforward. It has a readout that says “Pregnant” or “Not Pregnant”. It eliminates the lines and the ambiguity that comes with them.

No room for interpretation. No fun.

But...crack open a digital and you will find a strip. With those fun little lines.

The instructions that come with the test state that the lines are meaningless. They can only be read by the test. The word result that comes up in the window is the only one you should rely on.

That said, I’ve read many internet posts where women who have gotten a “Not Pregnant” readout on a digital test have not heeded the instruction’s warnings and opened up the stick to find a strip with two lines…

…Which inevitably leads to a lot of false hope.

Two lines? That usually means pregnant. So maybe the test is positive but the digital readout just isn’t picking up the second line.

It seems logical. But the instructions don’t lie. There is no way to determine a positive or negative result on a digital just by looking at the lines.

I have proof.

Both times I took the test, at the beginning of this pregnancy, the digital readout said “Pregnant”.

Each time, after a few minutes, curiosity got the best of me, and I pried the stupid things open.

It took a few frustrating seconds (and almost breaking a nail) but I finally got the suckers apart.

Only to find the inside of a freaking small computer staring back at me.

Seriously, it seems a bit too much for a home pregnancy test, doesn’t it?

Seeing it’s technological guts laid out almost made me feel as if I had peed on a the motherboard of a Nintendo Gameboy.

Weird.

Then I pulled out the test strips.

This is the from the first positive test. Only one line. While the second positive test has two lines.

So the lines obviously are not meant to be read by the naked eye. You could be pregnant and get one line or two. Or you could be not pregnant and get one line or two.

My advice is to follow the instructions and resist the urge to tear the thing apart.

Besides, you don’t want to risk ruining your French manicure for no good reason.

Pajama Party Time! (Giveaway!)

2011-09-04T00:17:00.001-05:00

**THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED!**

Winner: Veronika

Bedtime is not an easy event at my house, by any means.

I have three little monsters who try every night to convince me (through screaming, crying, and an insane amount of negotiation techniques) that they are nocturnal by nature.

Even though they fight off sleep like the plague, there is one part of their nighttime routine that they actually enjoy.

Pajama time!

Lucky for us, Crazy For Bargains, a company that specializes in fun sleepwear for the entire family, sent each of my boys a set of pajamas for review.

Now, I have to warn you…my kids were so excited about the new jammies that they weren’t exactly cooperative when I was ready to take pictures.

These are the best shots that I could get:

The Lego Batman pajamas were a perfect match for Kamryn, who has an obsession for superheroes (inherited from his geeky father). And Bronx thought his new adorable giraffe pj’s were good enough to chew (Much like his old beloved crib)!

Even though I loved all of the boys’ new jam jams, my favorite was the little fish sleeper for Daegan. The back actually says “Something’s Fishy” across the bottom! How cute is that!

Like what you see? Well, you can have great pajamas too! That’s because Crazy For Bargains is going to give one of my lucky readers a store credit worth $25, good toward sleepwear for you, your kids or someone else you love!

Here’s how to enter:

* Follow The Suburban Princess Diaries through Google Friend Connect (if you don’t already!) and leave a comment. Make sure that you provide a valid email address so that I can contact you if you are the winner.

* All entrants must be at least 18 years of age and a U.S. resident.

The giveaway will be open until Saturday, September 17 at midnight (EST).

I will select a winner by random drawing at the close of the contest. The winner will be notified via email and announced in an update within this post.

Good luck and Sweet Dreams!

The Bronx Tale continues…

2011-08-24T23:54:00.001-05:00

Last month, we took our Bronxie Bear back to Children’s Hospital for more tests and an appointment with the nephrologist.

Based on the labs, the doctor sees no evidence of any kidney problems.

Excellent news.

One more thing we can rule out.

We’ve now been referred to an endocrinologist to keep investigating the possible causes of Bronx’s tiny size. (Just to update: At 2 years old he weighs only 19 pounds).

I have run out of any plausible ideas as to why he is growing at such a slow pace, but shortly before Bronx’s 2nd birthday I did notice that he was exhibiting some strange behavior.

The little woodchuck was eating his crib.

So, we decided it was time to move him out of the nursery and into Kamryn’s room.

Where he immediately began to gnaw on the expensive, new wooden bunk bed that he shares with his older brother.

He’s not teething anymore, so I can’t figure out why the heck he would be chomping on furniture like this.

It’s definitely something I’m going to mention when we visit the next medical specialist on our list.

Until then, I’m just hoping that he keeps his baby jaws off my entertainment center.

Now returning to our regularly scheduled programming. . .

2011-08-19T00:35:00.001-05:00

Alright. I know you’ve been waiting.

And I’m sorry I’ve had to leave you in suspense for so long.

I finally do have some answers though.

Most of which came as the result of a visit to the hospital emergency room at 6 weeks.

The dreaded spotting that has been freaking me out since the beginning of this pregnancy suddenly returned. Only this time it was accompanied by back pain and cramps.

It was terrifyingly similar to the way my last miscarriage began, so I felt like I had to get it checked out.

It was late in the evening, and my husband had to stay at home with the kids. I ended up going alone.

And while I waited for the nurse to call me back into triage, I was afraid that it was all over.

The doctor ordered blood work. Thankfully the beta wasn’t tanking like it had the last time things went wrong.

Actually. It was the opposite. It was really high.

Which even made the doctor raise an eyebrow about the possibility of multiples.

After that, I was forced to down an insane amount of ice water and sent to ultrasound.

I spent almost an hour in there, getting both an external and an internal ultrasound by a blank-faced technician who didn’t speak and kept the screen turned away from me the entire time.

It was torture.

Especially since I started thinking that maybe the reason it was taking so long was because he was measuring more than one.

Or because something bad was showing up on the monitor.

I barely breathed the entire time. And then, when it was finally over, the tech handed me a printout.

According to the doctor, everything looked fine. There was no way for them to determine what exactly was causing my symptoms, so they warned me to take it easy and sent me home.

Where I held my breath and waited until my first OB appointment three weeks later.

Another ultrasound was done…and again everything looked perfect…

And the baby looked so much bigger than last time.

You read that right. B-A-B-Y!

As in…only one.

And people, as exciting as twins would be… I am so relieved that we are not having multiples.

Because when this baby is born I will have four kids, ages four and under.

That’s right. Count ‘em. Four babies in four and a half years.

Any more than that right now and I would just be begging the TLC network for my own show.

God knows we can’t have that. The last thing I want right now is to be the replacement for the Kate Plus 8 timeslot.

Fetus to Fifth Grade

2011-08-16T21:35:00.001-05:00

When I started my journey into the world of motherhood, I found myself approaching it the same way that I would tackle anything else.

I went seeking out any and every bit of worthwhile information that I could find on pregnancy and parenting and I researched the heck out of it.

That’s me. I’m a total bookworm.

Now as a mommy blogger, I have the wonderful opportunity to read and review books about child-rearing that I may not have discovered otherwise.

And recently I was given a copy of the book, Fetus to Fifth Grade by Dr. David Schapira for review.

This book is unique from other parenting books that I’ve read because it gives helpful advice that is supported through scientific studies and statistical analysis. It holds a wealth of useful financial information, such as how to effectively budget for baby, and it even has a breakdown of how to determine whether going back to work after having a baby is really financially beneficial for the family. (We always figured that it wouldn’t be for us, which is why I ended up leaving my job shortly before my second son was born. Seeing the calculations in this book made it obvious that we really had made the right choice).

In addition to the economic topics that are covered, the book also covers other important subjects such as post-partum depression, interpreting a baby’s cries, and making the decision to breast or bottle-feed.

There is also a great chapter about the actual science involving vaccinations and Autism. Other chapters include recommendations for promoting healthy child development and battling out temper-tantrums.

Overall, I was impressed with how much information Dr. Schapira was able to include in an average-size paperback. With pertinent content that is well researched, comprehensive and informative, Fetus to Fifth Grade is an essential read for any parent.

Especially one like me, who enjoys doing their homework.

Making the Case for Double Occupancy

2011-07-14T19:22:00.001-05:00

From the beginning, I have thought one thing.

Maybe… just maybe… it’s twins.

I am not just taking a crazy guess at this. I have a long list of reasons that I suspect there may be two cupcakes baking in there.

Here is why I’m betting that we are having two:

#1.) Spotting: I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I never spot. Not ever during any one of my other pregnancies. That aside, spotting isn’t very common (only happens in 30% of pregnancies) and it is much more likely to happen in twin and higher-order multiple pregnancies.

I seriously cannot think of any other explanation for why I would have implantation spotting this time (and for a whole week) when it’s never been an issue before.

#2.) Elevated FSH Levels: This is a strange one, but it’s totally relevant. Remember awhile back when I failed that fertility test? Well, the test considered me to be a failure because it picked up elevated levels of FSH (follicle stimulating hormone) in my system. This particular hormone becomes elevated for most women as they get older and their ovarian reserve becomes depleted. The hormone increases in an attempt to release more of the eggs that are left in a last ditch effort to achieve pregnancy before time runs out and the woman reaches menopause.

Basically, if you have elevated FSH levels you can hyperovulate.

And hyperovulation can lead directly to twins.

I also discovered that in some cases breastfeeding can cause FSH levels to increase. Which is why I may have failed that test in the first place.

And that leads me to my next reason.

#3.) Breastfeeding: Women who are breastfeeding at the time of conception are nine times more likely to become pregnant with twins.

My theory is that it may somehow be the link between breastfeeding and FSH levels.

And, I have been exclusively breastfeeding my five month-old son now since birth…so there’s that.

#4.) Number of Pregnancies: It’s been proven that the more kids you have, the more likely you are to conceive twins in a later pregnancy.

I have an example for this. Take a look at Michelle and JimBob (hehe..his name is JimBob) Duggar. 19 kids…with two sets of twins.

I’ve been pregnant more than a few times, although not near Duggar numbers yet…

#5.) Family History: My sisters are twins, which means my mom could have passed down a gene for hyperovulation to me or my sisters.

And that whole thing about twins skipping a generation?

It’s a myth.

#6.) Ravenous Appetite: This one is less scientific, but it still makes me wonder. Case in point, since that first positive test, I have been eating like a beast. I am always hungry. I never feel full. In fact, I can eat an entire pizza by myself.

I should also mention that I’ve single-handedly managed to blow through our entire monthly grocery budget in a little less than two weeks.

Maybe I’m eating for three?

7.) Newfound Narcolepsy: Not only have I been hungry enough to demolish the dinner buffet at the Duggar house (nice tie-in, right?) but I also can’t keep my eyes open to save my life. I wake up, give the kids breakfast, and then catnap on the couch while they watch cartoons. A few hours later, I put everyone (myself included) down for a real nap. I get back up before dinner, eat enough to feed a small army and then pass out on the couch before nine.

I’m like freaking Sleeping Beauty over here.

Based on the above, I’m almost convinced that there’s two in there.

Then again I could be wrong.

Like last time, when I thought that maybe we were having a girl.

But I’ll let the jury weigh in. After hearing all the evidence, what’s your verdict?

Movie Star.

2011-07-10T23:28:00.003-05:00

This is from one of my more humorous Photoshop endeavors.

I figured now would be an appropriate time to dig it out of the good ol’ Picasa album and post it on here.

I hope you find it as amusing as I do.

My 1st Baby, Kamryn , circa 2007.

This post is part of:

The 4 Week Wait.

2011-07-07T21:32:00.001-05:00

That’s how long I have until my first prenatal appointment.

Four long weeks until I know for sure how far along I am.

Four whole weeks until I have an official due date.

Four more weeks until I can completely relax about that whole spotting episode.

In the past, I’ve always been excellent at keeping track of all of this stuff. I’ve always been able to accurately calculate my due date as soon as I’ve gotten a positive pregnancy test. I’ve always known how many weeks pregnant I am. I’ve always been able to get in to see the doctor a heck of a lot sooner than this.

Not this time.

Because of my wonky post-partum cycles, the best I can do before that first ultrasound is make an educated guess about how far along I am and when I am due.

I hate guesstimating.

And…after some of your comments, I now have to spend the next four weeks also contemplating the possibility that there may be more than one in there.

The wait is going to make me crazy…it already is.

Maybe I’ll just keep peeing on things to pass the time.

Hang in there with me.

It’s going to be an awfully long month.

Misrepresentation.

2011-07-06T00:36:00.001-05:00

I was having a wicked bout of insomnia last night.

Since I couldn’t sleep, I spent some quality time with my computer.

To make the experience a little more interesting, I decided to Google my blog.

The first page of results was rather anti-climatic. I was given the main link to my webpage, secondary links to some of my posts, and my profile for Blogger. The usual stuff you’d expect to pop up during an internet search.

One of the results that followed after that though, was a little bit surprising.

WTF? I am NOT an alcoholic housewife.

And I’m damned sure there are no videos of me out there pretending to be one.

I had to investigate, so I clicked the link.

And ended up here.

At a place called Organized Wisdom. From what I have gathered, the site gives its users alerts on heath topics from doctors and other experts in the medical field.

And my blog made it on there because a doctor/psychologist saw a crazy connection between my post, Alcohol Abuse, and that drunken housewife.

So he posted this:

And tweeted this:

Which in turn was also retweeted. By a cat…with keys?

And just to be clear, my original post was not about alcoholism. It was about how I accidently ingested an infinitesimal amount of spiked punch at my sister’s Halloween party last fall. While pregnant.

So I’m not really sure why this guy thought my blog would be a good match with the alcoholic housewife.

It’s not like I have a drinking problem.

As a matter of fact, if he did his research a little more recently, he’d discover that what I really have is a peeing problem.

My first thought, based on the fact that he tagged the link to my post with the label “substance abuse”, is that maybe this doctor was trying to make an example out of me.

Perhaps making me the poster child for pregnant, alcoholic mothers.

The alcoholic housewife post does claim that 5.2 women in America abuse alcohol.

Judging from the way I’ve been linked to this, Dr. ~~Phil~~ Peter probably thinks that I am one of them.

I can only assume the worst. He found The Suburban Princess Diaries, a blog about a stay-at-home-mom, saw the post title about Alcohol Abuse (probably didn’t bother to actually read it), and figured that it fit the bill.

I must be a poor, overwhelmed mother who hits the bottle to cope. Even while knocked up.

I think I have been head-shrinked without even asking for it.

So, I say to that dear doctor:

Thanks for the internet controversy, sir.

Addictive.

2011-07-03T01:20:00.001-05:00

A little over a week and a half ago, I started to suspect that there might just be another little cupcake in my oven.

So, I made my husband go to the dollar store and buy me some pregnancy tests.

I took three of them over the course of a few days. Upon initial inspection, they all appeared to be negative.

But I scrutinized. I held them up under the bathroom light bulbs. I took them apart and studied the paper test strip from every angle.

I even photographed them and inverted the image.

Just to make absolutely sure.

And I saw something on each one of them. Something that was nothing more than a shadow really. Something so faint, it was almost like it wasn’t even there.

I figured that because it was practically non-existent that it was probably just an evaporation line.

But then I got to thinking…

What are the chances that all three tests would have evaporation lines?

I had to get a definitive answer. I went out and bought a different brand of tests.

A box of First Response Early Results.

For two reasons.

1) The First Response tests are more sensitive, so if the dollar store tests were picking up remnants of an actual line, it would theoretically be a much clearer, less ambiguous line on the First Response test.

and

2) If the First Response comes up negative, then I would have solid evidence that the dollar store tests were just giving me crappy evap lines.

As hard as it was to resist, I didn’t take the First Response as soon as I brought it home. I wanted to wait until the next day so I could follow that first morning urine rule.

When I woke up the next morning, I was spotting. I figured that I didn’t need to test. The game was clearly over. There was no way I was pregnant.

As I was leaving the bathroom though, I took another glace at the box of tests sitting on the counter.

I decided that I should probably take one, if for no other reason than to prove my evaporation line theory, so I would know if I needed to doubt the reliability of the dollar store tests in the future.

Less than 3 minutes later, I was looking at a BFP.

Once the initial shock wore off, reality started sinking in.

I was worried about all the ominous symptoms I was having, so I (very much against the advice from the lady that writes PeeOnAStick.com) bought tons of tests thinking I could watch the lines get darker to reassure myself that the HCG in my body was in fact, increasing the way that it should over time.

Crazy. I know.

I started out with the dollar store tests. But I ran out of those early on.

Then I found a great deal online for a pack of 25 test strips so I ordered those.

Out of the 25, there are only 10 left. I expect the rest will be gone relatively soon.

Soon after that, I got bored and felt like it was time to switch it up. I got a box of generic +/- tests.

During this POAS frenzy, I also managed to blow through two boxes of First Response Early Results.

I took a digital too, just to shut up my husband, who swears he doesn’t see a line no matter how dark it is.

For those of you doing the math on this one, that totals out to 30 home pregnancy tests.

And for the record, I still have an unused First Response, a Clearblue Digital and ten more of those internet cheepies sitting in a drawer.

Which means that the testing insanity may very well continue.

It’s entirely possible that I may need some sort of intervention at this point.

Because clearly, I am an HPT junkie.

(Not) Just my imagination.

2011-07-02T01:16:00.001-05:00

I got a return call from the nurse at my OB’s office bright and early this morning.

After running through a detailed list of my symptoms, the nurse reassured me that what I am experiencing is most likely a muscular-skeletal issue.

Nothing that would warrant an immediate concern.

She also concluded that since the spotting has pretty much tapered off, it was probably just implantation bleeding.

Cue a huge sigh of relief.

I still am harboring a tiny bit of anxiety…but I won’t be able to let that go until I have an ultrasound and can see for myself that everything is completely fine.

One more thing…

I’m about a week out from the first positive test and this is what is now staring back at me in the mirror.

The baby bump literally expanded overnight.

How is it possible that I am not hallucinating?

Waiting to Exhale.

2011-07-01T01:58:00.001-05:00

I’ve almost managed to convince myself that everything is fine.

I’ve talked myself into believing that things are different this time for a good reason…

I’ve tried to stop worrying.

But it’s been hard to remember to breathe.

After an entire week, the spotting seems to have stopped.

For the first time in days, the back pain has been barely noticeable.

Today I started to relax a bit.

Until I started having pain in my shoulder.

Then I got a little panicky.

Against my better judgment, I conferred with Google Howser, M.D.

Who, despite all the infinite internet wisdom, couldn't give me a straight answer about exactly what type of shoulder pain is associated with ectopic pregnancy.

There was a few mentions of “shoulder tip pain” but I’m still not really sure what that means.

I panicked a little more.

I called my husband and asked him what he thought.

He said it was probably nothing. And I explained that normally I would think so too, but I couldn’t ignore all the other unusual symptoms I have had recently.

The spotting, the lower back pain…

and now the shoulder.

All signs of trouble.

He accused me of being a hypochondriac.

I lost it then. I started crying. I told him that I always try to ignore every symptom, because I don’t want to bother anyone if it’s nothing.

I am scared of overreacting. Scared of looking stupid.

I don’t want to be sent to the doctor’s office or the E.R. if I don’t have to. Especially since it’s not exactly a fun time for me.

Mostly because there is usually a pelvic exam involved.

I am not a hypochondriac.

I just couldn’t rationalize everything enough to ease my mind anymore.

So I did what I knew I should have probably done a few days ago.

I did what many of you ladies told me to.

I broke down and called my OB/GYN.

I told the receptionist that I have been having some symptoms that I am concerned about.

She took my information and told me that a nurse would call me back.

Twelve hours later, I haven’t gotten that call.

I suppose that means that they’re not worried. And if they’re not all that worried, then I shouldn’t be. Right?

Thankfully, the shoulder pain has let up some. My husband has a theory that I may just have slept on it wrong, since it does feel similar to a muscle ache.

Here’s hoping that for once, he’s right.

And seriously, is it just me…

Or do I already have a (bump)?

Fear.

2011-06-29T17:16:00.005-05:00

Things are already so different this time around.

The day before my BFP, I started spotting. I thought I was getting my period.

A zillion pregnancy tests later, I’ve ruled out that theory.

I’ve spotted on and off every day since.

Repeated consultations with Dr. Google have helped convince me that it’s probably normal, but I’m still a little anxious.

I have never spotted during any of my previous pregnancies.

I’ve been trying not to freak out, but then I started having terrible back pain.

Which has also been lingering around for the past few days.

It feels like I’ve been sleeping on concrete at night.

I’ve debated over calling my doctor, but I’m pretty sure they are going to tell me what I already know.

Don’t call unless it gets worse. Way worse.

And I don’t feel like it’s an emergency. I don’t feel like I’m losing the pregnancy. The spotting is not constant, and it’s super light. I haven’t had any bright red bleeding like when I’ve miscarried. No lack of pregnancy symptoms either.

In fact, I have actually had an insane amount of pregnancy symptoms already.

I think those are all good signs.

I’m convincing myself that it’s going to be fine, I just need to make it to that first prenatal appointment to get some reassurance.

Until then, I’m going to try not to be a total nervous wreck.

Can You Keep a Secret?

2011-06-28T01:16:00.003-05:00

(**To those I know IN REAL LIFE who are reading this…please, please, PLEASE keep the following information to yourself and DO NOT TELL ANYONE, as we have not yet shared this with everyone in our family**)

That said, I JUST HAD TO blog about this.

I think it’s safe to say that the fertility test I took awhile ago was completely wrong.

And we totally broke that Cycle of Ten thing in half.

It’s my party & I’ll whine if I want to.

2011-06-24T07:40:00.000-05:00

I’m getting older.

In fact, I just “celebrated” my first ambivalent birthday.

The first birthday where my age was going to be a number that I actually wasn’t looking forward to.

The big 2-9.

The last year of my twenties.

A number that will be an ever-constant reminder over the next year that the countdown to 30 has officially begun.

I didn’t exactly know how to deal.

I went out. I had ~~more than~~ a few drinks.

And then I woke up with the first hangover I’ve had since college.

Okay, so that’s one thing I don’t miss from my younger days.

To top it all off, my husband gave me this:

Oh, no. I’m so NOT turning 30.

It gets worse. The card sings.

My husband has a particularly cruel sense of humor.

Either that, or he just can’t count.

It’s not so far-fetched considering that we've been married for almost 6 years and the man can’t even spell my name correctly.

So I’m 29 (NOT 30)…and I married a jackass.

Happy Birthday to me.

Liar, Liar.

2011-06-22T18:38:00.001-05:00

Remember when I said I was considering lying to complete strangers?

There is more than one reason that I might start adopting the practice.

As it turns out, Bronx’s small size is great for freaking people out.

Because he looks like he’s around 9 or 10 months old.

But he walks. And he talks.

Like a 2 year old.

It totally throws people off.

They stare at him in disbelief, then gaze down at their own sitting (not able to walk) and babbling (not able to talk) 9 month-old and the wheels start to spin.

“How old is he?” They ask.

I usually, without much thought, reply, “22 months” or “Almost 2”.

And then the scenario gets pretty boring.

It only recently dawned on me that I may be going about this the wrong way. It’s finally occurred to me that I should be taking advantage of this anomaly.

Because seriously, it would be much more entertaining to just say he’s as young as he looks.

Why not just let them think that I have spawned my very own Baby Einstein?

It could be fun…

Running down a dream.

2011-06-21T09:29:00.001-05:00

Last year, I ran the Sunburst 5K unknowingly pregnant.

It was my very first road race. The first running event I had participated in since my high school track career had ended 13 years earlier.

I ran it in 40:19. With a potty break.

This year, I ran it again. 4 months postpartum. And with a kidney stone.

That’s right. Another damn kidney stone. My 4th in the past year. My second in the past month.

I ran it in 33:28. Again with a potty break.

False advertising. We ran 3.1 miles, not 13. But it’s fun to pretend.

From left: My BFF, me, & my sisters.

I kind of feel like a badass.

Even if Brightroom didn’t get any photos of me actually running this year.

Stupidheads.

Not only that, but I have stuck to a solid workout routine.

I am training for more races.

And I have lost all the baby weight plus 3 pounds.

I am starting to look freaking amazing in clothes again.

The muffin top that I have spent the last few years loathing?

Finally GONE.

The return of my previous beefcake body is no longer a distant dream.

It’s finally starting to become a reality.

Irish Eyes are (halfway) Smiling.

2011-06-17T18:13:00.001-05:00

When we last saw the pediatric ophthalmologist who diagnosed Daegan with Ptosis, we were told that he would have to wait until June to determine if the condition was affecting his vision.

We’ve been waiting a long three months. It’s been difficult to have to spend each day wondering if Daegan’s eyelid is obstructing his vision and then to worry if it could be interfering with his vision development.

Today we finally went back to doctor to get his condition reevaluated. The ophthalmologist took various measurements of his eyelid in relation to the severity of the droop. He also noted how often the baby tips his head back to compensate for the eyelid obstruction in an attempt to allow his eyes to be able to work together.

Daegan is constantly tipping his head back, which I thought was a surefire sign that his vision was being compromised.

Apparently, not so. The doctor seems to think that his vision is completely fine.

He then reiterated that we should hold off on the corrective surgery until just before Daegan enters school.

When I asked if it was absolutely necessary to wait, the doctor explained that the surgery is much more successful if there is more tissue present to work with. Infants are not ideal candidates because they are so small.

It looks like my little leprechaun (Daegan is actually a traditional Irish name and oddly enough our little guy is actually a strawberry-blond redhead) will get to keep his googley eye for the next few years.

Not such a great thing for pictures. And I’ll have to put up with the annoying “What happened to/what’s wrong with his eye?” questions for awhile longer.

But if it means that the future surgery will have a better outcome, I suppose it’s worth it.

Daegan will continue seeing the ophthalmologist on a regular basis to monitor his vision, and should the condition start to interfere with his eye development, the surgery will be scheduled sooner.

Until then, maybe we’ll just start calling him Sir Winks-A-Lot.

Pseudo Twins.

2011-06-14T07:42:00.001-05:00

A strange phenomenon has already begun.

Much sooner than I expected it to.

Everywhere I go, I get the same question.

“Are they twins?”

At first, I thought people were joking.

But they weren’t.

And after taking some time to think about it, the reality of the situation has hit me.

At 22 months, Bronx only weighs 5 pounds more than his 4 month-old baby brother.

Currently, the stats are:

Bronx-17.5 pounds, Daegan-12.2 pounds.

They are one diaper and clothing size apart.

It’s like the baby version of The Twilight Zone.

It gets a little awkward when I explain to the curious bystander that they are not twins.

Because then they jump to this question:

“Are they both yours?”

Yes, they are both mine.

Then I watch the confusion set in as people try to do the math, and the numbers come up wrong.

Eventually I have to give their brain a break and go into details.

They are 17 months apart. The older one is just really small for his age.

Most of the time I have to add that Bronx was a preemie so I won’t have to go into how much of a medical mystery he is.

The times I haven’t added on the preemie disclaimer have left me at the mercy of comments like:

“Is he okay?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Do you feed him?”

Seriously. People have said this stuff.

These innocent public chats-turned-interrogations have started to wear on me.

Which is why I’m considering giving up. It just may be that the next time I go shopping, Bronx and Daegan will be getting matching outfits.

And when people ask if they’re twins, I’m just going to start saying yes.

What the hell, I may even put them in an audition for a Doublemint commercial.

It’s got to be easier than getting grilled by a swarm of strangers every time I leave the house.

Process of Elimination.

2011-06-10T02:07:00.001-05:00

We took our itty-bitty Bronx to a children’s hospital last week to meet with a pediatric urologist.

It was a long trip. Traffic was crazy and my pink Garmin (named “Molly” after Molly Ringwald from Pretty in Pink) got us lost by directing me to take a very unnecessary exit off of the interstate. Once I finally figured out where I was going (again, no thanks to “Molly”) I discovered that parking was an even more horrendous mess…and my nerves were so frazzled I actually passed up the opportunity to get it validated.

That was a twenty-two dollar mistake.

Before our meeting with the urologist, we had to take him to the lab for another Cystic Fibrosis sweat test. The first one he had done a few months ago came back inconclusive, so it needed to be repeated.

Once again, my little guy was hooked up to electrodes. Then he sat for about five minutes while an electrical current was sent into his arms to make him start sweating.

This part made me nervous for one obvious reason…they were hooking my baby up to electricity. The straps and electrodes reminded me of the electric chair.

And who wants something that resembles “Old Sparky” wrapped around their child’s arm?

That was bad enough.

What’s worse?

They had to do both arms.

After that, we had to wait for thirty minutes with Bronx’s arms wrapped to catch the sweat for testing.

Surprisingly, Bronx didn’t mind having mummy arms.

When we first arrived at the hospital’s lab for the sweat test, the nurse called over to the urology department to let them know that we would be getting there late (The genius that scheduled the two appointments booked them an hour apart, so there was no way we were going to make it on time). We arrived at the urology department thirty minutes late, and were immediately informed that the doctor would not be able to see us because we had shown up past our scheduled time.

Uh, pretty sure that’s what the phone call from the nurse was for. Hey, Urology! We’re held up in labs and it’s not our fault!

I tried to explain. The girl at the front desk said she would speak to the doctor to see if we could get squeezed in.

At this point, I was feeling pretty desperate. We had been waiting for six long months to see a pediatric urologist, and it wasn’t like their office was just down the street. We had traveled to get there, and I was almost in tears just thinking about the possibility of being sent home without seeing this doctor.

We have no idea what is going on with our little boy. What if it’s something that can’t wait another six months to be discovered?

Here’s where things get strange. Just before the girl at the front desk goes back to speak with the doctor, she pulls up Bronx’s information in the computer and starts asking me questions.

Most of which were fairly routine. Except for when she tried to verify the date that Bronx had seen a kidney specialist.

The problem?

Bronx has never seen a kidney specialist.

Upon learning that, the urology doctor decided that there was no need to see Bronx.

We were told we need to see a nephrologist. Not a urologist.

Fabulous. Six months goes by and all we’ve been doing is waiting to see the wrong doctor because someone put inaccurate information in my son’s chart.

I should have been livid. But the doctor, and a nurse who works in the kidney diseases department that I spoke with afterward to try and schedule an appointment both came to the same conclusion that I did after looking at his chart.

The slow growth and the hematuria could be related. And it could be a kidney issue.

It was nice to at least have my instincts now validated by two medical professionals, even if my parking wasn’t.

So now we have an appointment with the kidney diseases unit. That same day we are scheduled to also have more lab work done. The nephrologist has ordered a whole new battery of blood tests and urine samples.

Oh, joy.

This time I advised the patient scheduling department to book the appointments three hours apart. They tried to convince me that an hour and a half would be an adequate amount of time to complete the labs and get over to the kidney disease unit.

Obviously, I know better.

That’s not the only thing that I learned during our visit. I also was given some very good news over the phone during our drive back home.

My blondie bear, Bronxie, does not have cystic fibrosis.

The Cinema Show.

2011-05-30T10:41:00.001-05:00

I’ve always heard that the first step to recovery is admitting that you actually have a problem.

Okay, so I’ll admit it.

I have a problem.

Correction. My husband and I have a problem.

A problem that I didn’t fully realize until I started reorganizing our family’s collection of DVD’s this past week.

A project that I finally had to tackle because we were tired of the kids constantly pulling the cases off of the movie racks we had in the living room. If that wasn’t annoying enough, Bronx had recently figured out how to open them, and all the discs were now being repurposed as teething toys.

Uh-oh. They are so busted.

I finally decided to take action. I ordered locking storage cases that would hold 100 discs each. Problem solved. No more DVD cases littering the floor in front of our television, and no more discs covered in baby slobber and bite marks.

It was a great solution. Until we did the math and discovered that we would be needing more than just a few cases.

And organizing it took more than just a little time. It was a week-long endeavor, made up of countless hours spent entering titles into an online database, cleaning discs that were covered in everything from fingerprints to peanut butter, and then loading each disc into its own individual slot in the new storage systems.

Just to be exact on the inventory, we needed a total of seven cases. And that was just for actual films. We didn’t catalog extra discs containing special features or any of our TV series boxed sets.

Seven 100-disc cases. Five of them are completely filled. And one of those boxes is nothing but kid’s movies. Yes, we have over a hundred children’s DVD’s. We had to start a second box just for their stuff.

Based on those numbers, it’s actually quite possible for us to start a video rental business out of our home.

Which is how we know we have a problem.

Hello. My name is Brittany. And I am addicted to theatrical home entertainment.

Forget the 12-step program though.

We have kids. We don’t get out that much.

There is no way we’re giving up our stash.

What I learned from Superman…

2011-05-23T19:18:00.001-05:00

I was never into comics growing up.

I was, after all, a GIRL. And a downright girly one at that.

So I left the superheroes to the nerds.

Until that fateful day when I decided to marry one.

Since then I have been subjected to so much more of the comic world than I’ve ever wanted.

I now know who Stan Lee is.

I have been forced to watch every episode of Smallville.

I could even tell you the names of all the X-Men.

In essence, I’m a dork-by-association.

Trust me, this is not a title I’m proud of.

However, after spending countless hours at comic conventions evading the awkward glares and drooling from the virginal geeks dressed up as Storm Troopers, I have gained some useful knowledge.

With Number 1 on the list being: Avoid anyone dressed in Star Wars getup. No exceptions.

Other things my exposure to the superhero universe has taught me:

2. I can wear green and orange together and it actually looks pretty cute.

Thanks for the fashion tip, Aquaman!

3. Everyone has a nemesis. And when you defeat one, another usually takes its place.

Right now, mine is the mean lady that works in the babysitting area at my gym.

4. Spending $400 on a fiberglass Power Rangers helmet without your wife’s permission should be considered as reasonable grounds for divorce in a court of law.

Seriously Matt, you look like a green-headed, Mighty Morphin Power… Tool.

5. Power Rangers helmets are good for only one thing: collecting dust.

Can you tell I really hate that stupid thing?

6. If you are ever at a ~~nerd convention~~ comic-con and you accidentally bump into a table where a heated game of D&D is being played, be prepared to run. For your life. Those geeks take their dungeons and their dragons very, very seriously.

True story, I bumped a table like that once, then fled in a panic to escape the rush of an angry Dungeon Master and his minions. Pocket protectors may have been thrown in fury.

7. Michael Keaton was the best Batman. Ever.

No explanation needed. He wins, hands down.

8. Batman is the best superhero. Ever.

I don’t care what my husband says about Superman. Black rubber is so much hotter than little red undies over tights. And Batman can’t be taken out by little green rocks.

9. Secret identities are important. Especially for safety reasons. Additionally, having an alias can also help keep you out of trouble should you ever commit a crime. And let’s not forget that if you have an “alter ego” you never have to admit that what you really have is a multiple personality disorder, or as I like to call it, “an attack of the Sybils”.

Now you know why my last name isn’t plastered all over this blog.

10. The little girl from Adventures in Babysitting was right. Thor is not a homo. He fell in love with Natalie Portman and promised that he would come back for her after his epic final battle. But like a true douchebag, he didn’t return. Even worse, he didn’t even bother with a phone call. Turns out, Thor is just your typical heterosexual male jerkwad.

Figures. Thor would have been way more awesome gay.

Slight miscalculation?

2011-05-22T01:39:00.001-05:00

Guess whose car needs a new paint job, like right now…

Uh, Whoops.

But what’s really crazy is the way that the president of Family Radio, Harold Camping, came to the conclusion that May 21, 2011 was the day that this whole Rapture thing was going to go down.

The calculations went something like this, according to MSNBC’s Cosmic Log:

“Saturday supposedly marks 7,000 years since the Noah's Ark flood, and 722,500 days since Jesus' crucifixion. By Camping's numerology, 722,500 represents (5 x 10 x 17) x (5 x 10 x 17), or the square of atonement times completeness times heaven.”

I’m pretty sure that I never learned anything about the square of atonement in any of my mathematics classes.

Thank goodness too. The square roots of actual numbers were overwhelming enough for me.

Because that wacky equation seemed pretty farfetched…I ultimately decided not to hole up in a bunker somewhere safely avoiding the threats of any potential apocalyptic mess.

And since I didn’t see any of this going on…

…I’m pretty sure we’re all safe. For now.

I guess there is still a chance the Mayans got it right.

Anyone want to put their money on December 21, 2012?

The Elephant in the blog.

2011-05-19T21:22:00.001-05:00

I don’t talk about it often on here.

Sometimes, I feel as though I should, but I can’t bring myself to actually type it out.

I did write a post explaining myself one time. But then I backdated it so it wouldn’t appear on my homepage. I made it so that the only way it could be read was through the archives, or by clicking the photo at the bottom of this site.

The story of my initial struggles to get pregnant and the losses that I have endured are extremely hard for me to share.

Years later, the scars still haven’t healed.

And I have to admit that it could be an underlying reason for my hypersensitivity concerning all the fertility drama that has been playing out recently on here.

Seriously… I have issues.

Rio.

2011-05-18T23:19:00.001-05:00

It used to be that when I heard the word “Rio”, I would immediately have that Duran Duran song stuck in my head.

And I love me some Duran Duran.

But not anymore. A few weeks ago, thanks to Chiquita, I took my family to see the movie Rio at the theater.

It was so much fun. Especially since I love to see movies, but I hardly ever get the opportunity to actually get out of the house.

The movie was great. My oldest, Kamryn, absolutely loved it. Our favorite character was this little guy:

A crazy little pick pocketing monkey. Yep. He steals his bling from the tourists. So hysterical.

In addition to the movie tickets, Chiquita also sent me a bag of their new Fruit Chips. It’s a snack that contains dehydrated banana, pineapple and mango. Not only is it delicious, but the fruit is the only ingredient. There is no added junk like sugar, or artificial colors and preservatives. The boys practically inhaled the entire bag, and I love anything that makes feeding the kids something nutritious just a little bit easier for this mushy mommy.

The Beefcake is Back.

2011-05-18T01:31:00.001-05:00

It has been three months since little Daegan entered the world.

And I am now officially back to my pre-baby weight.

Can I get a Hallelujah?

Sadly, my transformation didn’t come the same way it did after the birth of my second child.

Translation: The M&M diet didn’t work this time around.

No, no. I actually had to sweat to drop the extra pounds.

It has been hard, but I have been forcing myself back into distance running (with a few sprints thrown in here and there, because really I am a sprinter at heart).

I also have been following an intense weightlifting routine.

Oh yeah. And I’m still trying to stick to a loosely-based version of that hellish diet I told you about.

All of this torture hasn’t just been about getting buff though.

I’ve been training to run another 5K this year.

But losing all the baby chunk was an added bonus.

Score!

WTF is this?

2011-05-16T20:27:00.001-05:00

Today I took a First Response Fertility Test.

I felt as though I had to. It was just sitting around in a drawer on the verge of expiring and because I am now beginning my third (OMG! THIRD?! My baby is only THREE months old, for crying out loud!) postpartum cycle I figured now would be as good a time as any.

Especially since I have been rather ambivalent about starting up those birth control pills. I figured having proof that my ovarian reserve was still well stocked would give me the extra bit of reassurance that I needed to finally stop making excuses and get back on the contraceptives already.

So, I tested. Just for fun.

Completely expecting the same good result that I got last year.

Instead I got this:

If you have no idea what it means, let me explain. The instructions that come with this test state that a test with no second line or a line lighter than the control line is indicative of a low FSH level, which means that ovarian reserve (the quantity and quality of eggs) is normal.

A test line that is the same color and intensity as the control line or a line darker than the control line means that the FSH levels are high, which is an indicator of fertility problems due to poor egg quality/quantity.

Maybe my vision is a little off, but those two lines look pretty identical to me.

Which caught me by surprise.

A surprise that, as the initial shock wore off, quickly turned into a mild panic.

How could I have failed a fertility test?

It doesn’t seem possible. I have been pregnant four times in the last four years. I’m not even thirty yet.

Why in the world would my FSH levels be high?

Now I don’t know what to do. We were going to wait four or five years before trying again, but if the results of that test are accurate, I’m not sure that we can afford the time.

What if my biological clock is already running out? Could that be why I have been feeling so on-the-fence about pregnancy prevention?

A lengthy Google search did bring up a couple of sites that mentioned breastfeeding causing high FSH levels, but none of them seemed very scientifically convincing.

Okay, so this is exactly why I need to stop conducting experiments in my bathroom.

Especially the ones that involve peeing on things.

A bit of a change.

2011-05-15T12:18:00.001-05:00

Blogger went stupid on Friday.

As a result, I couldn’t log in to my account.

Which means I couldn’t read my comments.

That was annoying.

But, it wasn’t nearly as annoying as seeing this a few hours later:

Maybe it was just a Friday the 13th freaky bad luck thing.

My last post was removed. Along with any comments that I hadn’t moderated yet.

My post eventually was restored. However, I suspect that there may be some comments that are still missing.

Because of this, and the fact that Blogger’s commenting system doesn’t allow for me to easily reply to my comments, I have decided to make a change my comments section.

I am now going to host my comments through DISQUS. This way I won’t have to worry about losing comments when Blogger has a virtual temper tantrum and I can finally reply to you when you leave messages about my posts!

Thanks for understanding. I hope you all like the new system as much as I do!

The Waiting Game (Medical Mysteries Edition)

2011-05-12T09:33:00.000-05:00

Next week, my little Bronxie will be 21 months old.

The last time he saw his pediatrician, at 18 months, he weighed a teeny-tiny 17 pounds, 8 ounces.

Astonishingly, at his appointment yesterday we discovered that now he is actually losing weight.

The big guy shed a few ounces and is now just over the 17 pound mark.

Most one year-olds are bigger than that.

There still has been no diagnosis. No reason for why he is so small.

The doctors seem just as puzzled as we are.

We have a whole month to go before we finally get to meet with the pediatric urologist. The one who is so high in demand that we had to schedule our appointment 6 months in advance.

I’m hoping that maybe he’ll have some answers.

Because he has had two abnormal urinalysis results, my gut feeling is that his slow growth is somehow related.

I think it might be his kidneys.

I hope that I’m wrong. I hope that it is nothing.

All we can do is wait and see.

Fisher-Price is a Bad Influence.

2011-04-27T15:14:00.001-05:00

My mom is really awesome.

She recently managed to score a used, Fisher-Price Power Wheel for the boys from one of her neighbors who had a child that had outgrown it.

She called me as soon as she got it, and told me that it was big enough to fit two kids and that it had a huge trunk.

I asked her if it was a jeep. She said it was.

I have seen the Power Wheel jeeps before. At first, since it had previously belonged to a little girl, I had assumed that it was pink.

Oh, no. My mom set me straight and explained that it was a big, BLACK jeep.

Based on her description, I pictured it looking something like this:

Imagine my surprise when my sister dropped this off at my house on Easter:

Yes. It’s BIG. It’s black.

But it is most certainly Not A Jeep.

My mother may have also failed to mention a few other minor details.

Like the hideous ~~paint~~ sticker job.

Looking at that really made me start thinking about the people who work in the design department at Fisher-Price.

I mean with all the cool monster trucks out there, you go and model your kid version after this monstrosity?

Really, Fisher-Price? What were you thinking?

I realize that The Grave Digger is one of the more famous monster trucks out there, but for a child’s toy I find it to be…

hmmm….a bit too macabre?

Maybe it’s just me.

But I’ll let you be the judge. Here’s what I found molded in the trunk of my 4 year-old’s new “ride”:

Anyone else find this a little disturbing?

Not at all? Maybe that’s because all normal people carry shovels in their trunks.

Yeah, if you’re as normal as, let’s say, a serial killer.

Seriously, would it have been out of the question to make a Power Wheel that looked a little less satanic and a little more like this?

Now that’s a cool monster truck. And it’s so much more kid-friendly.

I think the reason that my mom neglected to mention that she was sending my kids the scariest Power Wheels ever built was because she was more concerned with the fact that the headlights and music didn’t work and that the truck seemed to be running slow.

She told me that I might need to invest in a new battery to fix it because maybe it wasn’t be taking a full charge.

Of course, being the little Miss Handy Woman that I am, I started looking into it immediately. After a little researching, I found out that the lights and the music don’t run off of the main battery, they operate separately off of 3 AA batteries. I took the box with the battery compartment out of the dashboard and unscrewed it to find 3 dead batteries, one of which had exploded, leaving nasty dried battery acid all over the inside.

It took a few rounds of cleaning and a toothbrush soaked in diet Pepsi, but I got the acid residue out and new batteries in and now all the bells and whistles are in perfect working order.

A little more internet sleuthing led me to discover that the vehicle actually has two speeds, and there is a high-speed lockout on the gearshift that prevents beginners from going too fast. I removed the screw that was locking out the fast gear, and the speed problem was (not-so) magically solved.

That means that I don’t need to invest in a new battery.

Custom vinyl to replace all those skulls doesn’t seem like a bad idea, though.

The Chemicals Between Us.

2011-04-25T17:46:00.002-05:00

**Warning: This post is full of TMI. If you don’t have any interest in the inner workings of my uterus or my (slightly deranged) mind, please stop reading now, while you’re still safe.**

That said, my body seems to have gone completely psycho.

This almost never happens.

When it does, I tend to go completely psycho with it.

Let me lay it all out for you. A few weeks ago, at 8 weeks postpartum, I accidently discovered that I was ovulating.

What the Hey Zeus?!

This doesn’t make any sense. I exclusively breastfeed. I should be enjoying the privilege of lactational amenorrhea. I shouldn’t be anywhere near fertile right now.

Except for the fact that my body always seems to want to start the baby factory up and running right after I give birth. My uterus is operating under the assumption that it is responsible for repopulating the entire planet. With my first two sons, I was back to my regularly scheduled program of cycling at three months postpartum. Again while exclusively breastfeeding.

That pretty much shoots the nursing-as-a-form-of-birth-control theory right out the window for me.

This time I got cheated out of a whole month. Once I knew that I had ovulated, I found myself in a nervous and panicky unexpected two week wait. What if I was pregnant? What if I wasn’t?

Of course, getting pregnant again and having two babies who would very likely be born in the same year is not an ideal plan for our family right now. After the dire warnings against another pregnancy in the near future and a clear push for medically prescribed contraceptives, I am absolutely positive that my OB/GYN would bitch slap me immediately upon arriving at his office for my first prenatal appointment. I’m equally certain that my parents and in-laws would start treating me and my husband like irresponsible, stupid little teenagers. The Duggar references would only get worse.

And I’m pretty sure that my husband would probably die of shock.

I know what you’re thinking…what about the pill?

I was waiting for my first postpartum cycle to start it. The thought behind this was that I wasn’t going to start regulating something that wasn’t there to regulate if I didn’t have to.

I was really in no hurry to start up a period before it’s time.

I was also thinking chances were pretty slim that anything would actually happen before that first cycle hit.

Besides, we were no where near the ten month mark.

ha. I’m a little naive like that sometimes.

I started to get nervous when two whole weeks passed after the positive OPK and AF hadn’t shown up.

So I tested. BFN.

I squinted. Looked at the test every which way, under every type of light.

There was only one line. ridiculously negative.

Then the next day came, but AF didn’t. I tested again. Just to be sure.

And that’s when I saw it. The faintest of faint lines.

OMG.

Later that same night, I started spotting.

Another morning. Another test. Another barely there line.

Then I had two days that hovered between spotting and the lightest period I’ve ever had in my entire life.

Tested again. Back to the BFN.

In retrospect, there is a possibility that what I saw may have just been evaporation lines.

Then again, I’m afraid it could also have been a chemical pregnancy.

But here is the weird thing…as relieved as I am that I am not pregnant right now, I also can’t help feeling the least bit broken hearted.

It may be that I am suffering from Octomom Syndrome.

Because even though I just had a baby, I am already obsessing about having the next.

One… or Two.

Which is completely insane, especially since I think that woman (and her doctor) are complete whack jobs.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I’ve wanted to punch in her fakey Angelina Jolie face on more than one occasion.

And while I haven’t been taking money out of my existing children’s mouths for IVF treatments, I may have been planning out the details of how Matt and I will be TTC our future babies in my head.

That’s got to be crazy, right?

I mean, come on, lady! Give the incubator a chance to cool down already!

The logical side of me has agreed with my husband that we will hold off on adding to the family until the kids are all in school. Ideally, about five years from now.

Although, the Nadia Suleman side of me thinks tomorrow would be a good time to hop back on the baby-making train.

That’s bad.

If my husband knew about that side, he’d skip his morning meeting tomorrow and head straight to the doctor’s office for a vasectomy.

And there is no way I’m going to let that go down.

I guess that means I better break out those pills already.

My 17 Days in Hell

2011-04-19T21:13:00.003-05:00

I have never been a dieter.

Fortunately for me, I have never needed to be. Up until recently, I had the rare luxury of being a natural beefcake.

Sadly, we all know what happened after I found myself in the family way.

My beefcake turned into, well, just cake.

And while cake is delicious, it doesn’t look all that great sitting on one’s midsection moonlighting as fat.

Ugh. Wiggly Jiggly. No good.

I am two months postpartum now and I am still carrying around an extra five pounds of baby weight. I know that it can take up to a year for some women to get back in shape after a baby, but this has never happened to me before.

I am a freak of nature.

With both of my previous pregnancies I was back to my pre-baby weight by my six-week postpartum visit.

It wasn’t that I gained more weight this time around. I didn’t. I put on a total of 23 pounds with this pregnancy. With my first I gained 23 pounds as well and with my second I gained 19.

Since extra poundage isn’t a reasonable explanation, the only excuse I have left is my age.

So I’m going to jump to conclusions and blame the fact that I’m almost thirty as the reason those five evil pounds keep hanging on.

I’ve already started running again, something I was forced to give up while I was incubating the third heir to our family’s throne. I also have resumed my strength training workout, but even with the exercise I am not seeing the benefits fast enough.

Translation = I still don’t look quite like this:

I’m pretty close, but still no dice.

In an attempt to jump start things a bit, I took a giant leap of faith and downloaded The 17 Day Diet by Dr. Mike Moreno onto my Kindle.

For the first time in my life, I was going to go on a diet.

Okay, so technically that’s a lie. When I was pregnant with Bronx back in 2009 I had gestational diabetes and I had to limit my carbohydrate intake.

That diet flopped when I realized that everything tasty is actually a carb. Even when I followed the changes to my food intake, my blood sugar remained sky high, so I was forced to endure daily insulin injections.

That ordeal gave me a newfound respect for diabetics everywhere.

Other than that, I have never been on a diet, so I knew that this 17 day thing was going to be a challenge.

Unless of course, the diet somehow involved consuming Pepsi and Snickers bars for two whole weeks.

I wish I could have been that lucky, but I wasn’t. Snickers bars, as well as every other edible item that I love, were suddenly contraband as I entered into my 17 days in food prison.

Or as I like to call it, dietary hell.

First of all, the diet is not really just 17 days. It’s actually three cycles of 17 days.

Great. So I’m on the 51 Day Diet. This guy should change the book title. It’s misleading.

Oh, and after the 51 days then you go on the “rest of your life” diet where you follow one of the 17 day cycles during the week and the have three meals of whatever you want over the weekend.

Okay. So cross off that 51 days and replace it with “forever”.

The worst part was when I found out that the main staples of this diet are vegetables and water.

I hate vegetables. And we all know how water is my nemesis.

But I was determined to try and I decided to take my Pillsbury Doughboy of a husband along for the ride.

We lasted a whole five days.

Until I realized that I might pass out and die from running everyday without the aid of carbs.

And I really started to get cranky from the low blood sugars.

We modified the diet. We still follow most of it, (which is good because I have literally consumed more vegetables and water in the past week than I have in my entire life) but I get two carbs and at least a tiny bit of something chocolate during the day.

Because seriously, if I have learned anything from this diet, it’s that I cannot live without chocolate.

If Charlie Sheen was my Therapist…

2011-04-14T21:16:00.001-05:00

He would tell you that right now, I’m not high on a drug called “Brittany”.

He would also say that I’m not a rock star from mars, I’m not drinking tiger’s blood, I don’t have Adonis DNA, and above all…

I’m duh, NOT winning.

Although, I doubt that I would choose to seek help from a therapist whose prescribed course of treatment would involve a brick of cocaine and paying me an obnoxious amount of money to sleep with him.

That would just make me even more of a disaster.

But in reality, I’d never see a therapist in the first place. I have considered the possibility that I might need therapy many times in my life, only to inevitably come to the same conclusion every time.

I don’t want anyone, not even a psychologist, to think that I am crazy.

Even if, maybe, I am.

The truth is, I realized several weeks ago that I was dealing with the postpartum monster all over again. Once my husband figured out what was going on, he asked me if I wanted to talk to someone.

Ugh. No.

I explained that I didn’t need people thinking that I was crazy. It would only make my emotionally-unbalanced, hormonally-induced condition worse.

Instead, I let my emotions work themselves through.

For a few weeks, insanity ensued. I started out sad, and then I just turned angry, bitter even. I felt like I was going to lose it at any minute. I thought that my very own, personal nervous breakdown was waiting for me around every corner. I was constantly on edge, just trying to hang on.

In my defense, everything in my life was falling victim to the domino effect. My grandmother had suddenly died, and Daegan was born with a congenital eye defect that will require surgery. On top of that, a million little everyday things were going awry, like the stroller getting a flat tire and the delivery date for furniture I ordered getting pushed back indefinitely. Everything seemed like it was falling apart.

And then there was Facebook. It was irritating to log on and see everybody’s stupid happy status updates all the time. I got sick and tired of everyone else having such wonderful lives when mine was really starting to suck. So I deactivated my account.

Needless to say, all the big things that were weighing on me were making it nearly impossible to cope with the little aggravations.

In other words, I was becoming a word that rhymes with witch.

And a really big one, at that.

It’s hard for me to hold on to all that angst, though. In a moment of rationality, I decided that I ultimately needed to focus on the things in my life that I can control as opposed to the things I can’t.

I think that’s my real problem. I’m a control freak with a luggage claim full of excess baggage.

I’m trying to get over it, I swear. Sometimes it helps just to remind myself that things could be worse.

I could be a wreck of a man named Charlie Sheen.

The Price of Avoiding Prematurity.

2011-04-04T15:09:00.001-05:00

After a lot of time spent sitting on the fence about progesterone injections, I finally gave in to my doctor’s advice and let a nurse stick a needle in my behind once a week for nine weeks during my last pregnancy.

The injections were an attempt to prevent me from delivering prematurely, because my middle son was born early and I had preterm labor that had to be stopped with medication during all of my pregnancies.

It worked. Sort of. I still had preterm labor in my sixth month that required hospitalization and medication, and I gave birth to my third son three weeks early, but at 37 weeks gestation, he was considered full-term.

Without the injections, I highly doubt that I would have made it that far.

Right after Daegan’s birth, the same progesterone injections that I received during my pregnancy finally became approved by the FDA for the prevention of preterm labor.

Up until this point, doctors were prescribing the drug “off-label” and using compounding pharmacies to obtain the injections.

The PIO injections that I was getting were shipped directly to my doctor’s office for about $20 a shot.

However, once the FDA approved the drug, the company that markets the drug under the brand name Makena, sent letters to compounding pharmacies demanding that they stop producing the drug. Then they set the price of one injection of Makena up from $20 to $1500.

Subsequent outrage ensued. In response, the makers of Makena, dropped their price in half, to $690.

Which means, a normal prescribed course of treatment, which is 20 weeks, will cost about $13,800.

Still far more than the $400 that the compounding pharmacies were charging for the same exact drug.

It’s completely outrageous.

What bothers me the most is that the pharmaceutical company is willing to turn out a disgustingly huge profit at the expense of risking the lives of babies.

Not just babies. My future babies.

Because of my history, progesterone injections will probably be a necessity for any future pregnancies I may have.

But I can’t drop $690 a week on injections.

I don’t know of many people who could.

Thankfully, the FDA is still allowing the compounding pharmacies to make the drug as a generic at an affordable price. I’m also happy to state that the March of Dimes, one of my favorite organizations, has terminated it’s relationship with the makers of Makena.

That means that my initial fears of not being able to receive the drug next time around can probably be put to rest.

At least, let’s hope so.

Why I Won’t Win “Mother of the Year”

2011-03-31T19:25:00.001-05:00

Ever since I became a mother, one thing has really become clear to me.

People judge you.

For some strange reason, everyone automatically assumes that they have the right to comment on everything that you do involving your children.

Welcome to the world of micro-scrutiny. A place where taking your children out of the house puts your role as a mother on public display and your ability to parent is constantly being questioned.

These so-called “well-intentioned” people, from family to friends to acquaintances to total strangers have offered up their opinions about all aspects of my capabilities as a mother, from the way I feed my babies to the way I discipline them and every little detail in between.

I have had people criticize me for the tiniest of parenting infractions, like giving my child a sip of my soda.

Really, has a few drops of cola ever killed anyone?

I’ve also been told that I shouldn’t breastfeed because it’s “gross” (say what?) and that Bronx wouldn’t have had any growth issues if I had just put him on formula.

That’s not including the gastrointestinal specialist that told me I was personally responsible for causing the malnourishment of my son because I breastfed him while I was pregnant.

And just today, I got a load of crap about my double stroller. All because it wouldn’t fit easily through a door that was modified with one of those finger guards for kids.

Yes, I was berated for not investing in a narrower stroller, or for my decision to use a double one instead of trying to carry around two children under two with my bare hands.

I’m not really sure which one.

And then there are the people that give me dirty looks and view me as irresponsible for having so many babies so close together, at such a young age.

Except my youngest two aren’t as close in age as people assume (I’ve already gotten inquires about them being twins! Seriously?!) and I am not nearly as young as I look.

I thought that appearing younger than your actual age was supposed to be a good thing, but it mostly works against me.

In response to all the negativity, I learned early on to put on my “perfect mommy” face.

The one where I never lose my patience, the one where I go out of my way to keep my kids happy and smiling. The one where I pretend that I appreciate the unwelcome comments and advice.

The problem is that the June Cleaver act gets old pretty quick.

And after four years of playing into this phony facade, I am finally ready to admit that I am not the perfect mother.

Hell, I’m not even close enough to play her in a movie.

Not even a Lifetime movie.

But I try.

Even though there are times when I just have to let things go for my own sanity’s sake. Times when I overreact and lose my temper. Times when I think that I might go absolutely crazy.

There are even times when I suddenly realize, with desperation and horror, that I have no idea what I’m doing.

I have fallen far from the days before I had children, when I would watch Supernanny with my husband and rant on and on about how we would never have those kinds of issues with our kids, because the parents on that show were complete morons.

I mean, Come On! Parenting is easy. It’s all just common sense!

I used to think I had all the answers.

And now, I know I don’t.

Which is why my kids sometimes get stuck with PB& J for dinner when I’m in a pinch (not exactly the best nutrition, oops!), or why, on a particularly bad and hectic day, I’ve forgotten to completely finish buckling one of the kids in their car seat (I know, it freaked me out when I discovered it too!) or why I’ve spanked (OMG! Yes, I actually spanked when I swore I never would) my oldest in the heat of the moment because I’ve ran out of patience for his bad behavior.

I’m not proud of it, but sometimes I have had an epic fail or two as a mom.

At least the most significant shortcomings fit into just one short, confessional paragraph.

That doesn’t make me a bad mom, just an imperfect one. I’m only human. I do the best that I can, even if it means that I mess up every now and again.

So, even though I will never be crowned “Mother of the Year”, it’s okay. My reign as Suburban Princess will continue on.

Which means the kids are still going to end up late to preschool and when I actually find the time to make dinner, the dessert will probably be on fire.

Because, honestly, I’m no Betty Crocker either.

Eyes Wide Shut

2011-03-24T11:25:00.001-05:00

We took Daegan to see a pediatric ophthalmologist last week.

Where he confirmed that Daegan does, in fact, have congenital Ptosis.

Unfortunately, this means that Dr. Google Howser was right.

We have to go back in three months so the doctor can determine if the condition is affecting his vision. If it is, my poor little baby will probably have surgery before summer’s end.

If it isn’t affecting his vision, the doctor informed us that the operation will be delayed until just before he enters kindergarten.

Which would then mean that my poor little baby would have to walk around looking milk drunk for the next five years.

Five years!

As awful as it sounds, I’m hoping that they find a reason to do this sooner rather than later.

I would just hate to have to prolong the inevitable.

Angels Unaware

2011-03-22T14:58:00.001-05:00

This is a photograph of my precious Daegan.

Taken on the day that my grandmother died.

It’s a strangely eerie, but beautiful coincidence.

Shutting Down the Factory

2011-03-21T14:30:00.001-05:00

My six week postpartum visit was last Friday.

It was more than a little awkward.

Because my doctor is adamant that I take a long sabbatical from procreating and as soon as he entered the exam room, he was talking up birth control options.

He started out by trying to sell me on the idea of Mirena, an IUD that can prevent pregnancy for up to five years.

Since Matt and I have agreed to take a five year hiatus from reproducing, this does seem like the logical way to go.

Great. I would totally sign up, except I have read the warning labels for Mirena. Developing Pelvic Inflammatory Disease and/or having something attach to or go through the wall of my uterus is a risk I am not exactly comfortable taking. And personally, the idea of having a foreign object lingering around in my lady parts for half of a decade just kind of freaks me out.

I was actually surprised that my doctor even brought Mirena up in the first place. I shot him down on this option once before, 18 months earlier, when I had Bronx.

Apparently, this guy doesn’t have the greatest memory. Either that, or Mirena is cutting him a piece of the profit every time he prescribes it, and he figured he’d at least try once more to win me over.

I told him to forget about it.

With the IUD option off the table, he suggested Depo Provera, which is an injectable contraceptive that prevents pregnancy for up to three months.

I told him no way.

My problem with foreign objects apparently extends to synthetic hormones that hang around for extended periods of time as well.

I pled my case for the pill. Asked if I could please go back to the brand that I was on back in the day, even though I was breastfeeding.

I couldn’t go on the mini-pill (which is the pill that is recommended for breastfeeding moms) like I did after Bronx was born .There was no way that I was going to subject myself to that world of crazy willingly again.

My OB agreed to let me go back on my old pill. He said that it potentially could effect my milk supply, which is why they normally steer clear of it, but apparently, it’s not very likely because the hormones are in such low doses.

He said he’s never seen it happen.

I left with my prescription. Not even ten minutes later, on the way to the pharmacy I realized that I have an issue I wasn’t ever really aware of until now.

I am a control freak. Especially when it comes to my fertility.

I want to be on the pill because I know that I can stop it at any time. That way, I am never more than 24 hours away from clearing all the extra hormones out of my system. The Pill can’t bench my baby-making machine for three months or five years like those other contraceptives.

As soon as I stop taking it, I can be right back in the game.

And I take a huge amount of comfort in that. It’s like my own little security blanket.

Of course, in reality, we are taking a long break. As soon as cycling resumes, the pills will start up and my ovaries will be notified that they are laid off until further notice.

And by further notice, I mean until all the ones we have now are in school.

After almost five years, the factory is being temporarily shut down.

2012 may be the first year since 2006 that I won’t spend pregnant at some point or another.

Which will be nice, especially if the world doesn’t end that year.

Stupid Mayan calendar.

The Google Curse.

2011-03-12T09:44:00.002-06:00

I love modern technology. And no, I’m not being sarcastic here. Without the internet, or smart phones and their never-ending apps, or DVR, I don’t know how I could survive.

It would be rough, not to mention extremely inconvenient.

But as a mom, I think that the ability to online investigate every medical issue that arises in our family has made me a closet hypochondriac. It’s too easy and too tempting to scour the web for possible diagnoses just by typing in the symptoms.

I always think that the knowledge I obtain will put my mind at ease, but most of the time, the total opposite happens.

Instead, for every bit of useful information I find, I also encounter countless other websites and articles describing in graphic detail (and sometimes even with pictures!) all the horrific medical conditions that could have befallen my poor children, based on the symptoms they have.

In turn, I fret over the possibilities and become one nervous wreck of a mother.

That, my friends, is why Google is the devil.

Case in point, when our pediatrician couldn’t come up with any definite conclusions on why Bronx wasn’t growing, I went home and immediately conferred with Dr. Google.

The search results weren’t pretty.

I was bombarded with a list of links a mile long that covered everything from celiac disease and short bowel syndrome to prader-willi syndrome and progeria.

The stuff of every parents’ nightmares.

When Bronx’s urine samples became an issue and his sweat test came back inconclusive, Dr. Google generated more web pages about kidney disease and cystic fibrosis.

I keep telling myself that I should stop feeding into the search engine paranoia, but it’s hard. In the back of my mind, I can’t help but wonder, “What if it is this?”

It hasn’t gotten any easier to escape Google Howser, M.D. since Daegan was born a few short weeks ago. Daegan was born with one eye that will not completely open.

The pediatrician said that it was probably a blocked tear duct and is going to refer him to an ophthalmologist. But since it has been four weeks and I feel bad that my poor baby constantly looks milk drunk when he’s awake, I put on my Nancy Drew hat and went to the computer to do some research.

Part of my problem is that I somewhat have doubted the blocked tear duct theory from the start. Bronx had a blocked tear duct once and it never kept his eye from fully opening. My doubts were further confirmed when I searched “blocked tear duct” and there was no mention anywhere of drooping eyelid as a symptom.

However, I did find a multitude of sites about Ptosis, a condition where one or both eyelids have a weakened muscle that prevents it from opening completely.

Then there were other web pages that mentioned in-utero nerve damage as a cause for eyelid drooping.

Now I’m nervous that the ophthalmologist may find that his eyelid issue could potentially effect his vision development and that he could have something going on that could warrant surgery.

All those “maybes” make me anxious, and I don’t play well with anxiety.

So, damn you, Google. Damn you straight to hell.

Bring on the Birthdays!

2011-03-09T18:07:00.001-06:00

I am always looking for things that I can do for my boys that are creative and special, so I was super excited when Build A Sign contacted me awhile back and asked if I would be willing to try out some of their products.

They make a variety of products that you can customize for personal or business use. I decided to design a vinyl birthday banner for each of my boys.

Build A Sign’s website makes it super easy to customize every detail of the product that you design. I was able to create these amazing banners:

The banners are huge and they look fantastic. They are also very sturdy, so I think that they will probably be durable enough to last for a very long time. I cannot wait to use them every year at the boys’ birthday parties!

Wait. . . Did I just get scammed?

2011-03-08T12:35:00.001-06:00

In the past few days I have discovered that I handle death much like I handle other life stressors.

I engage in obnoxious amounts of retail therapy.

Because for some stupid, superficial reason, buying things makes me feel…strangely better.

While trying to navigate my way through the grieving process, I have purchased the following items:

A new double jogging stroller
A new baby swing with an A/C adapter
A bunk bed and dresser
A Nikon D3100

That’s just the online stuff. I also have hit up the local stores buying more (smaller) home items and baby gear.

In short, I have lost my mind…and most of my money.

It hasn’t been total madness though. The things that I bought were carefully considered ahead of time. I talked myself out of buying other items that I finally concluded (after much internal debate) weren’t absolutely necessary.

Although, my husband would argue that none of it is really necessary. He’s a real stickler for the want versus need comparison.

However, coming from a man that won’t even replace his socks when they have more holes than Swiss cheese, I doubt his opinion is completely relevant here.

Unless I tell him about the phone call I made this morning. Then he might have a reason to complain.

Yesterday, while I was at my grandmother’s funeral, the store that I ordered my new camera from called twice. They left two messages on my answering machine.

They never said exactly why they were calling, but they asked that I call them back right away.

So I did this morning.

Turns out, they just wanted to know if I wanted the option to sign for the package upon delivery. Which I eagerly agreed to.

I certainly don’t want the UPS guys just leaving something like that on my front porch. Or, in the bushes next to the porch, which is sadly a much more common occurrence.

But, before the camera guy would let me off the phone, he starting giving me a spiel about memory cards.

He went on and on about how I had to have a special type of memory card. One that would be compatible with the kind of camera I had just ordered.

I hate annoying sales pitches. So I cut him off and told him I wasn’t interested.

After I hung up, I did some research online and discovered that the memory card that I am currently using in my Coolpix won’t work. Even though it is an SDHC and is HD video capable, it only has a speed rating of 4. Nikon’s website suggests a card with a speed rating of at least 6.

So I looked around online some more and finally, against my better judgment, I called the annoying sales guy back. Forty minutes and a good amount of Q & A later, I had added a 4GB Professional High Speed (500x) card with a Class 10 rating.

According to the sales guy, it’s the only type of memory card that won’t cause errors and that will shoot with no delays. It will also allow me to use the HD video capabilities on my new camera without any issues.

Sounds good. But…I still can’t help but wonder if he was just BS’ing me to up the order total.

The card was an extra $99. But I did get the camera from the same place for a pretty amazing price. Which is probably the biggest reason that I let him talk me into the memory card. Plus, it’s supposed to make the camera function at it’s best.

I hope that I am getting a deal.

I know some of you out there know a thing or two about the camera industry. What do you think?

Did I just get scammed?

Saying Goodbye.

2011-03-03T09:06:00.001-06:00

My grandmother died yesterday.

A little over a week after her 83rd birthday, from complications related to a heart-valve replacement surgery.

My mom was a single parent, and my grandmother lived with us growing up. She helped my mom raise me and my two little sisters.

All of us were extremely close to her. And she was absolutely head over heels for her great-grandkids.

My grandma with Bronx in 2009

Fortunately, until now, no one in my immediate family has passed away.

So I’m frozen. I have no idea how to act, how to feel, how to grieve. Things feel strangely calm for me right now. I have no idea if that will change. I think I am in shock. I am terrified that it is only a matter of time before I completely lose it.

I used to joke with her that she would outlive all of us. I told her that if nuclear winter hit, it would be her and the cockroaches that would survive.

Up until recently, I totally believed it.

It seems so surreal that she is gone.

But she is.

I don’t really have much faith in the possibility of an afterlife. I think it’s most likely an invention of necessity, created to help comfort the grieving.

If there is an afterlife though, that lady is already starting to work some serious mojo from beyond.

After getting into my van last night to head home, my iPod started playing just the last few seconds of the Counting Crows song, “Colorblind”.

The lyrics went like this:

“I am ready,

I am ready,

I am fine.

I. am. fine.”

So either my iPod is omniscient, or Grandma was trying to tell me something.

A Perfect Storm.

2011-03-01T00:17:00.001-06:00

I probably should have known better.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that having back to back pregnancies after struggling with post-partum anxiety isn’t the best way to avoid it a second time.

I imagine that the sleep deprivation and killer migraines don’t help in that department either.

Add to that the fact that my maternal grandmother has been hospitalized for the past six weeks and her condition is worse now that it was when she went in.

It’s the perfect storm. Not just for another bout of PPA, but also for a major case of depression.

Normally, I would call my grandma because talking helps get all this mess out of my head.

And I really should never be left for too long alone with my thoughts.

It can get overwhelmingly crazy in there really quick.

But my grandmother’s tracheotomy tube has left her unable to speak. And that’s kept my days disturbingly quiet at times.

It’s been really hard not to focus on all the gloom and doom in my life right now. Everything is bleak in all directions.

I’m thankful the boys keep me busy. The distractions help the time pass and my head stays busy with to-do lists and schedules.

Because the less time I have to think about how the rest of my world is slowly crumbling at the edges, the better.

This too shall pass. And I just have to hang in there until it does.

The Aftermath.

2011-02-21T12:58:00.001-06:00

I’m sorry that I’ve pulled a disappearing act lately.

Unfortunately, I have a really good excuse.

The last three weeks since my third son’s birth have been horrendous for me. While I had a fantastically easy and virtually pain-free labor and delivery, (which was a total 180° from the first two births I endured) my recovery has been completely awful.

First off, I had the most excruciating afterpains. The doctor wasn’t exaggerating when he said that those get worse with each baby. They really do. Which makes me wonder what that Duggar lady does to survive after she pops out a kid. I mean, after 19 children, her afterpains have to be absolute murder.

I doubt they make painkillers strong enough to tackle that.

Surprisingly, the torture of afterpains hasn’t been the worst of it. I spent the first three days of my son’s life feeling like I had literally been hit by a truck. A big truck. And when that started to subside, it was replaced with the worst postpartum migraine imaginable, complete with dizziness and nausea severe enough to make me toss my cookies at random and not-so-convenient moments.

I’ve tried taking some over-the-counter headache medicines, but my options are limited because I’m nursing. Tylenol and Advil Migraine have done absolutely nothing. Add in all the sleep deprivation and crazy hormonal changes and you’ve got one big mess.

So, instead I’ve been stuck feeling miserable. And the last thing I’ve wanted to do is aggravate this migraine monster by staring at a computer screen. Hence, the explanation for my absence.

I do have the best new cuddle buddy though, and that helps.

Cirque de Pee-Pee

2011-02-10T23:46:00.001-06:00

It was about this time almost two weeks ago that I was in a hospital procedure room viewing something that I never thought in a million years I would actually witness.

I watched my newborn son’s circumcision.

Or as I prefer to call to it, the Cirque de Pee-Pee.

My two older sons were circumcised at my OB’s office and my husband and I were not allowed to be present during the procedure, so I was surprised when the attending pediatrician at our hospital offered to let me be in the room while he circumcised Daegan.

Because of our past experiences, I had a hunch that this probably wasn’t common practice, and my suspicions were confirmed when a friend of mine whose son sees the same doctor explained how laid back he is.

Apparently, the guy is a bit of a hippy.

So, of course, I took advantage of the opportunity and even invited my husband to join me in observing the event.

He gave me the “Are you crazy?” look.

Needless to say, I went alone.

I had a general idea of what was going to happen once we got into the procedure room, but I wasn’t exactly sure about the specifics. More importantly, I didn’t know how well the baby would handle it. I wanted to be there to make sure he wasn’t being tortured.

I know circumcision is not considered medically necessary, but my husband and I have elected to circumcise our boys for several different reasons. First and foremost, there is strong evidence suggesting that circumcision can help lower the chances of becoming infected with or transmitting certain STD’s.

Beyond that, I am down with Jenny McCarthy on the whole “pretty penis” issue. She had her son circumcised because, in her opinion, it just looks so much nicer. I couldn’t agree more.

Case in point, I used to find Harry Potter quite attractive…until I saw him naked in Equus.

That effectively ruined Daniel Radcliffe for me.

But back to the actual Snippety-do-dah…

Despite what I have heard some people say, it is not child abuse.

My son wasn’t tortured. In fact, I think he barely even noticed what was happening.

The nurse gave him a pacifier dipped in sugar water solution, which helped keep him calm while the doctor injected him with an anesthetic. His legs were held in place with loose Velcro straps, and the nurse gently held his arms (wrapped in a swaddle blanket) so he wasn’t restrained like a crazed prisoner, which is one of the things I had been most afraid of.

Once the anesthetic was administered, the baby seemed more interested in trying to fall asleep than in what was going on “down there”. The rest of the procedure was quick and easy. I was actually surprised about how simple the whole thing was.

It wasn’t the horrific experience that I had feared.

There were no tears, and my son now has that nice, clean-cut look.

Jenny McCarthy would be proud.

The Wait is Over!

2011-01-29T11:16:00.001-06:00

Our newest addition to the family arrived three weeks early yesterday morning.

He weighed in at 6 lbs 1 oz and 20 inches long. (Our biggest baby yet!)

He had minor breathing difficulties and needed brief CPAP assistance, but is now doing fine.

The labor and delivery were as rapid as I had originally predicted, and I did get my epidural in time.

It was pretty amazing.

Now I am slowly coming to the realization that I am the mother of three beautiful boys.

Three?!

OMG.

Let the adventures begin…

Labor Limbo.

2011-01-25T10:48:00.002-06:00

My last appointment was supposed to be uneventful, but things got interesting.

The nurse hooked me up to the monitors after I mentioned how crampy I was feeling, and the readout showed that I was contracting every two to three minutes.

But the baby’s heart rate was dipping a bit during those contractions.

So, the doctor checked me. And said that I was 3-4 cm dilated and almost completely effaced.

The doctor also said he could feel the baby’s head and that it was very low.

Upon hearing this, my husband and I went into shock.

We were in total disbelief as the doctor told us we needed to get to the hospital.

So, we rushed home. Found a sitter. Finally packed our bags.

Only to get to the hospital and wait.

The nurse checked me in and got everything set up. She even took my fingerprints for the birth certificate.

Accounting for how fast I went through the whole labor and delivery process the last time around, it seemed like it was a definite game on.

But then there was more waiting.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

We were there for eight hours. Nothing changed. The contractions eventually slowed down. And the baby scored an 8/8 on his Biophysical Profile.

So we were sent home.

Seriously.

Because as the doctor explained, he wasn’t going to help it along since I am not yet at term. Because, if I was, the doctor said that I wouldn’t have left the hospital without delivering first.

Oh, lucky me.

So we left. Now with the unsettling anxiety that I could go at any minute. And with my body doing all this prep work, when I do finally go into active labor it probably won’t take very long for this baby to come popping out.

It certainly didn’t take long with the last one.

Which means I could end up missing my epidural. Again.

I am absolutely terrified.

Other things have happened since then, some of which fall into that TMI category, confirming that labor is on the brink of starting at any given second.

Baby Watch 2011 has officially begun. Stay tuned.

The List.

2011-01-15T02:10:00.004-06:00

Everyone has one. Ross Geller’s was even laminated.

The list is serious business.

You know, the list of five celebrities that you have a free pass to sleep with if, by some incredible twist of fate, you would actually have a run-in with the famous object of your affection.

Because we all know that Hollywood miracles happen everyday.

So you have to be prepared.

I have a list too. And mine is so unconventional, I just had to share it with you.

Prepare to be amazed…and confused.

Or better yet, completely disturbed.

This is not the list of a normal 28 year-old woman.

1.) Phil Collins

Obviously, if you know anything about me, this was a given.

I’ve been his biggest fan since 1984.

And now that he’s divorced again, I’m a shoo-in.

Boo-yah. Someone to sing me to sleep at night.

2.) Spike (From Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Long before that pansy boy Edward Cullen entered the vampire world, there was this guy, William the Bloody.

Otherwise known as Spike. (And let me point out here that both William the Bloody and Spike make for much, much better vampire names than lame-o Edward.)

Spike makes my list for a number of reasons. First of all, I should probably clarify that I am not into vampires. Hence why I don’t own a Twi-Dildo. That said, if I am going to hook up with a vampire, it’s definitely not going to be with one of those sissy, romantic vampires, brooding over their lack of a soul and the torment that comes with sucking down human blood.

Those guys are wusses.

And they care way too much about avoiding premarital sex.

Which makes them no fun for lists.

Spike is different. He’s a badass vampire. He drinks blood and he’s kind of a jerk.

Plus, he has no sexual hang-ups.

If any of you have seen Spike in action, you’d know that he plays so rough that he can tear up an entire building while doing the deed.

It’s pretty hot. And the British accent doesn’t hurt either.

Moving on…

3.) Michael Rosenbaum (but only as Lex Luthor)

Okay, okay. So I have a thing for bald guys. And unattainable fictional characters. And men that are, for the most part, total a-holes.

4.) Misha Collins

Just in case you don’t recognize this handsome face, Misha Collins plays the role of the angel “Castiel” on the CW’s Supernatural.

I realize that I have some kind of weird name parallel going on with the whole “Collins” thing, but I assure you, this is purely coincidence.

I also understand how strange it is to completely skip over the obvious choices from that show, because Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki are two very good-looking men.

But they just don’t do it for me the way Misha does.

I love this guy because he is absolutely gorgeous and I love his voice when he talks. It’s raspy and quiet, and way too serious. I am attracted to his rugged Michael W. Smith-ish family man looks and demeanor.

If that isn’t amazing enough for you, I Wikipedia’d him one night for fun and found out that he built and designed his own house and he writes poetry.

Look no further, I have found the perfect man.

And of course he’s married (just like me). Which is why, if I ever have a chance in H-E-double hockey sticks to get with this one, I need the list.

5.) David Copperfield (circa 1990’s)

Back when he was doing all those CBS specials, David Copperfield was quite the hottie. At least in my opinion.

He had great hair (which, oddly enough strays from my cueball noggin obsession) and he can do crazy things, like make the Statue of Liberty disappear.

Makes you wonder what kinds of kink he could pull off in a dark bedroom…

Just saying.

Plus, the man owns his own island.

BananaRaMa! (Giveaway!)

2011-01-14T11:30:00.002-06:00

**This Giveaway is Now Closed**

I have a little monkey at my house.

Who loves bananas.

So I was really excited when I received a Chiquita Moms kit from Chiquita Banana.

Like I’ve said before, I am a self-proclaimed “Mushy” mommy. Which means that my kids usually eat a lot of processed junk. Why? Because it’s quick, it’s easy and I don’t have to start a fight to get them to eat the stuff.

That’s also why I love bananas. Quick, easy and no fussing. Plus, they are actually healthy.

The Chiquita Moms kit is great if you have a monkey hanging around your house too. Thanks to Chiquita, 5 lucky readers will be getting a kit of their very own!

The kit includes:

- A Chiquita Moms flip book

- Chiquita Banana recipe cards

- Chiquita Moms Grocery Tote Bag

- Chiquita Moms Freezer Bags

- A coupon for FREE Chiquita Bananas

To enter: All you have to do is follow me through GFC (unless you are already a follower) and leave me a comment telling me who the monkey in your house is…or you can tell me what your favorite banana-inspired treat is (I love dark chocolate covered frozen bananas).

There are no extra rules or extra entries. I like to keep it simple.

Please make sure to leave your email address in the comment so I can contact you if you are a winner.

I will pick 5 readers at random on Friday, January 21.

Good luck!

Sixteen Squared.

2011-01-04T21:08:00.001-06:00

Sometimes, my husband and I forget how tiny our little Bronx really is.

Until we do something silly, like this:

And then we realize how crazy it is to still be able to bathe a kid who is almost one and a half in the sink.

But he still fits. Which is why his pediatrician is sending him off now to an array of specialists.

Last week we had to take him to a Children’s Hospital to meet with a pediatric gastrointestinal specialist. A few days before the visit, I got a call from the hospital’s billing department to let me know that we would be getting four different bills after the visit.

One for the gastrointestinal specialist, and then one for a nutritionist, a occupational therapist, and a speech therapist.

I was beyond confused. I know that Bronx doesn’t have any feeding issues, so the appointment with the G.I. doctor alone was a bit of a stretch for me. The pediatrician insisted it was necessary, just to make sure that we were ruling everything out. I still wasn’t completely on board, but because I can’t explain why he is so far behind in growth and why his urine tests keep coming back strange, I decided that the doctor probably knows better than I do and I agreed.

You’d think I would have figured out by now that a fancy medical degree doesn’t necessarily mean that you know everything.

But the gastrointestinal specialist was one thing. The nutritionist, occupational and speech therapists were a whole different ballgame.

I asked the billing lady why we would be seeing any of those people during our visit.

She explained that our appointment was part of a feeding clinic and that when you see the doctor, you also see the other professionals so they can evaluate the child all at once.

I argued that it wasn’t necessary, and told her that I needed to call Bronx’s pediatrician. At that point, I was pretty positive that there was some sort of mix-up. There was no way that our doctor ordered all that extra nonsense.

Except that he did.

So even though Bronx has no other issues besides being really small and having two unusual urine samples, the doctor still wanted him to meet with all these people.

Talk about overkill.

It got even worse once we arrived at the hospital. The lady at the front desk made me sign a stack of forms and some of them were rather creepy.

Like the one that gave the hospital permission to use any tissues or photographs taken during any procedures for teaching purposes. With the promise that the patient would remain anonymous at all times.

I started getting nervous that maybe tissue “show-and-tell” was common practice there and my mind started racing with all the possibilities.

No one was taking any tissue from my baby. Not without a damn good reason first.

Then I had to sign forms for the pediatric psychologist. That’s when I found out that not only would Bronx be meeting with all those people I mentioned above, but now he would be seeing a head shrink as well.

I couldn’t fathom what a baby like Bronx would possibly need to see a psychologist for.

The visit only got more ridiculous when the lady at the front desk gave me a clipboard with another stack of papers to fill out in the waiting room.

It was a questionnaire about Bronx’s feeding habits that we were supposed to have gotten in the mail before the visit, but (surprise!) we didn’t.

That packet showed up at our house three days after.

How convenient.

It was when I started filling out that monster of a survey that I confirmed we were definitely in the wrong place.

The forms had questions about feeding tubes, refusals to eat, and bizarre feeding rituals.

Bronx eats normally. He has no feeding issues whatsoever. In fact, he eats more than his three year-old brother does.

The kid has a healthy appetite.

The paperwork was a giant waste of time. And when we did finally get to meet the doctor and the nutritionist, they were just as confused about why we were there.

They were shocked that he could walk (which was weird, because don’t most kids start walking between 1 and 1 ½?) and when we told them that he was fine developmentally and there were no feeding issues, they gave us a puzzled look and stepped out into the hall.

We never met with any of the other people. The doctor deemed it wasn’t necessary.

Obviously.

I was a little taken aback about how interested the doctor seemed in my pregnancy though. He asked right away how far along I was.

Then he played connect-the-dots with my pregnancy timeline and discovered that I had still been breastfeeding Bronx during my first few months of pregnancy.

He tried to use that as a valid explanation as to why Bronx is so small. That when he was being breastfed during my pregnancy, he just wasn’t getting enough calories.

In actuality, I nursed Bronx on demand for the entire first year of his life. Of those twelve months, I was only pregnant for the last two.

His growth has been behind since before birth. Not just for the two months that I was pulling double baby resource duty.

I was actually a little offended. The way he said it implied that Bronx’s growth issue was all my fault. That I was causing him to be malnourished because I had selfishly gotten knocked up while breastfeeding.

My kid may be small, but he was never malnourished.

The doctor went on to add that once the new baby arrives, someone won’t be getting fed because my house will be chaos.

It’s true. There will be chaos, but if someone doesn’t get to eat because of it, it won’t be the kids.

It’ll be me.

At the end of the appointment, we weren’t any closer to finding out what could be going on and all the doctor could gave us in the absence of any real answers was an order to get Bronx tested at our local hospital for cystic fibrosis.

The medical professionals my son sees are always saying that they are just trying to rule out all the possibilities, but I think they are just trying to send me into a paranoid frenzy.

First it was kidney disease, now it’s cystic fibrosis. I can’t wait for summer to get here so we can find out what the urologist wants to test him for.

That should be interesting. And terrifying.

The only definitive information we actually left the visit with was an official weight. They put him on the scale completely naked, so this was the most accurate weigh-in he’s ever had.

At 16 months, he weighs exactly 16 pounds.

A little under the average weight of a six month-old.

Santa’s Favorites.

2010-12-24T20:31:00.001-06:00

*Happy Holidays from The Suburban Princess Diaries.*

An Interesting Postscript.

2010-12-23T12:13:00.001-06:00

Remember when I got mail robbed?

Well, today I found an unexpected surprise waiting for me in my mailbox.

E.P.T. sent me another keepsake gift. Wrapped in plastic.

I opened the package and found this note inside:

Which only leads me to one conclusion.

I was not the only victim. Other people were mail robbed too.

More disturbingly, it probably means that there is not just one mail thief out there.

There may actually be an entire ring of pee-stick pouch bandits.

Seriously, who are these freaks?

That wasn’t the only thing that bothered me.

The makers of the Error Proof Test have made an error.

They clearly don’t understand the difference between the words patience and patients.

I am not a doctor, so I have no patients for them to appreciate.

It’s a little silly, but because of my journalism background, I have no patience for the misuse of words.

I also get upset by bad grammar, spelling and punctuation.

Everyone has their pet peeves.

Apology letter aside, there is a happy ending here.

I did get my purple pee-stick pouch after all.

Merry Christmas to me.

Just another bitchy post.

2010-12-14T21:58:00.001-06:00

The past week and a half has been nothing but a total disaster.

Excuse me while I take a moment to bitch about it.

Last Monday, about an hour after I had dropped Kamryn off at preschool (the nice one, not the gangsta one) I got a phone call from his teacher asking if I could please come pick him up.

The poor kid had pink eye.

And that’s when the shitstorm began.

That same morning, as I was leaving the doctor’s office with a script for eye drops, I discovered a small, but nonetheless still annoying dent on the back bumper of our barely year-old van.

A dent that, while small, had actually cracked the paint.

Which means that some asshole decided to damage my vehicle and not bother to leave a note. Jerkwad.

A few days later, Kamryn’s pink eye started to get better, just in time for his other eye to become infected.

The day after that, Bronx caught it in both eyes.

Then the weekend came, and both the boys and myself ended up sick.

Bronx and I have gotten the worst of it.

And I got pink eye. In both eyes.

The past four days have been awful. I can’t keep anything down, I am so congested my head feels like it’s going to explode and I can’t sleep. Even with sleep aids.

I am such a mess.

To make matters worse, Sunday night I ran to the bathroom to throw up and didn’t realize I was still holding my fairly new, still under warranty iPod touch.

When I got to the toilet, I started coughing. The iPod flew out of my hand and directly into the crapper.

By some small stroke of luck, the water was clean when it went in.

I pulled it back out within seconds (even though just sticking my hand in clean toilet water freaks the germaphobe within me out) and I dried it off.

It was still on, but the screen was fuzzy and the colors were starting to do some crazy things, so I shut it off and stuck it in a bag of rice.

I’ve heard of people doing this before, even though I have never heard any solid proof that it actually works.

But here we are, 48 hours later, and I have turned it back on.

And even though there is still some water trapped under the screen, the thing still works. Even the backlight, the touch screen, and the audio.

I think it must be a Christmas miracle.

Although, I don’t want to jinx it, so I’ve shut it back down and stuck it back in the rice.

I’m not booting it up again until the weekend. I figure all the water under the screen should be gone by then.

Oh, and I almost forgot. My best friend found out what she’s having today (she’s due three months after me).

Yep, you guessed it. A girl.

Seriously. Everyone.

It’s starting to get a little bit annoying.

So, now I have to try to go back to bed to get rid of this beast of a sickness that has befallen me.

Because the kid has preschool tomorrow and I have another PIO injection waiting for me at the doctor’s office.

And, damn it, I can’t even take my beloved Nyquil.

I’m pretty sure the universe hates me right now.

Gangsta Preschool.

2010-12-11T00:41:00.001-06:00

Yesterday was Kamryn’s last day of afternoon preschool through the local high school’s child development program.

It couldn’t have come soon enough.

This was, after all, the same preschool where the infamous biting incident occurred.

The same biting incident that I wasn’t notified of. The one where my three year-old son had to tell me what happened and then I had to confront the teacher.

I swear, if my brother-in-law hadn’t been one of the students involved in teaching the preschoolers in the program, I would have pulled Kamryn out. That day.

And just to clarify, said brother-in-law was not there the day of the biting incident, unfortunately.

The “biter” was kicked out of the program immediately following the incident. Apparently, the child had some sort of behavioral problems that the school had not been made aware of prior to the start of the program.

Little did I know, the “biter” was not the only problem with that place.

Right before the preschool ended, I was informed by my brother-in-law that earlier in the week, a four-year old had come to class with a pocket knife.

Let me remind you that this is at a high school, where I should be worried about what the teenagers are bringing to class.

Not the four-year olds.

One of the high school girls who is in charge of “teaching” the little kids caught the boy taking the knife out of his pocket and she asked her teacher what she should do.

This is that same flaky lady that didn’t have the common sense to tell me my son had been bitten by another kid. So, I wasn’t surprised to hear that she told the girl to tell the little boy to put the knife back in his pocket and not take it out again.

How this woman got a job as an educator is beyond me. Clearly, she’s a moron.

So, I went to the next class with Kamryn and sat in the observation room the entire time. About halfway through, I asked the instructor about the knife incident.

She stared at me in shock for a moment, so I am under the impression that she didn’t notify any of the parents of this incident for a reason. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I am the only parent in the entire class that knows anything about what happened in that classroom for the last nine weeks because I had a spy of sorts hanging out in there for me.

I can only guess that she kept the parents out of the loop because she was afraid that the information might somehow get her into trouble.

I was the only one who got word of the knife incident.

After she got over the initial shock, she started to laugh.

And then she proceeded to tell me her version of what happened, chuckling throughout, like it was a really funny story.

Oddly enough, I don’t find children who are barely out of diapers toting around dangerous weapons to be even remotely humorous.

Especially when they are doing so in the same room as my son.

She explained that the knife was discovered before the class officially started and that she confiscated the contraband, telling the child that pocket knives are not allowed at school.

Call me crazy, but I had a hard time believing her.

Mostly because she hasn’t been very forthcoming in the past.

She even threw in some snide remark about how the next class lesson plan would be about handguns.

Hilarious.

Even worse, apparently when the boy was picked up and his mother was informed about the incident, she scolded him and said, “I told you to keep that in your pocket.”

Which means his mother sent him to preschool knowing fully well that he was packing.

I shudder to think what kind of home life that kid has.

Even though Kamryn is done with the program, I am still thinking about writing a letter to the school’s administration because I’m pretty sure that preschool needs a new teacher.

Maybe I should recommend someone who has experience in classrooms turned war-zones.

Maybe Michelle Pfeiffer.

Twi-Hard . . . On.

2010-12-07T20:46:00.001-06:00

I came across a blog awhile back that was hosting a very interesting Twilight-inspired giveaway.

Forget for a minute the fact that even though I read through all of the books and have seen all the movies, I hate everything that is Twilight.

Glittery vampires with good intentions just don’t do it for me.

But, they must excite someone out there an awful lot, because otherwise this would not exist:Ah, yep. It’s a Twilight Vamp Dildo.

I know. I couldn’t believe it either. That’s why I had to blog about it.

Not only is the thing as white as Casper (a bonus if you’re into fooling around with not just vampires, but ghosts too) it also has the capability to sparkle in the sunlight.

If that isn’t authentic enough, it also can be refrigerated to mimic the temperature of a romantic douchebag without a pulse.

Seriously, how desperate do you have to be? I can’t really wrap my head around the idea that there are people out there (and just for starters, there were over 450 entries in that blog giveaway) who actually love the idea of Edward Cullen so much that they are willing to buy a silicone replica of his undead manhood.

Just so they can get down and dirty with it.

I think that may be taking your dedication as a fan just a bit too far.

The only ones more delusional are the people who are biting, being bitten and drinking blood because they really, really want to be a vampire.

Those freaks exist too. My dad actually met one in a bar once and she showed him the bite marks on her thigh from her boyfriend. Who had “sired” her.

No joke.

And to think, this whole vampire craze was ignited by a Mormon.

Which is why those angelic vamps don’t dare have sex before marriage.

Screw Team Edward or Team Jacob.

I found a better team to join.

I couldn’t agree more.

The Lost Blog Archives : Daddy’s Gonna Kill Ralphie! (2006)

2010-12-07T09:15:00.001-06:00

*FYI: Back when Blogger was only used by my college instructors to post the class syllabus, I used a completely different platform to host my original blog.

Oh yes, much to my dismay, I have to admit that I am a former myspace blogger.

Thankfully, over the years, things have changed. As fate would have it, myspace pretty much died at the hands of Facebook, so I dropped blogging for awhile and then somehow last year, I ended up here.

The only sad thing about the transition was that I had to leave my old posts behind.

Until I started resurrecting one or two of them on here.

But there are still many posts lingering in blogger purgatory on my old myspace account. Since things with Bronx are still up in the air while we wait to hear back on some more testing and Kamryn is battling the eye drops needed to cure him of pink eye and I am still on edge with preterm labor issues, I figured another old school post was in order.

And wouldn’t you know it, I have one just for the yuletide season.

Enjoy!

Here we are...Christmas is back, and it's time for my favorite holiday tradition, MOVIES! What better way to celebrate the season than with some timeless classics that you can sit back and relax with after all the presents have been opened and all the leftovers have been eaten.

Hey it beats freaking sledding...

That stuff sucks because snow always finds a way to creep down into your snow pants and then you end up with hypothermia or some other crappy illness. Merry Elfin' Christmas to that, I'd rather be stuck on the couch with one of Columbia Tri-Star's "home entertainment" products.

So here's getting to the movies. The traditional favorite of mine, of course, is A Christmas Story.

It basically covers the highs and lows of being a kid at Christmas. Ralphie, the kid, wants a Red Rider BB gun from Santa but everyone keeps telling him that he's going to shoot his eye out. Poor Ralphie.

It’s a funny movie.

But there are things about the film’s most classic scenes that I find a tad bit disturbing.

1) Flick's Triple Dog Dare : After a stupid dare, Flick sticks his tongue to a pole in the winter and gets stuck.

This seems to be a reoccurring cinematic theme. Here's another festive classic where someone doing pole-licking eventually gets "stuck":

How on earth did we go from Saved by the Bell to that?

And speaking of naughty things…

2) The Leg Lamp : Who could forget the soft, warm glow of electric sex in the window?

I sure couldn't.

Hmm...kinda reminds me of how scary fake body parts can be, especially when they are assembled altogether to form a sex slave:

Yes, totally strange but true...it's a doll, a "love" doll. Retail Price: $4,050. And that's for one that's never been “used”. Oh yeah, you read that right. You can actually buy these things secondhand if you can’t afford a brand new one. Either way…ugh, gross.

I still can’t believe that there is a market for that sort of thing.

And I think I just killed my Christmas spirit a little.

Try Not to Breathe.

2010-12-02T00:34:00.001-06:00

He loves to toddle around the house in nothing but a diaper and push all the buttons on the remote control.

And if you ask him what sound a dinosaur makes, he puts his hands in the air and says “RAWR!”

He’s so very small, but he looks like a completely healthy, little baby boy.

Only…he might not be.

We found out that some of the tests that he has undergone since his birthday have come back with abnormalities.

The results have been vague, but paired with his slow growth rate, there could be a real cause for concern at this point.

Actually, there may have been a cause for concern since the day he was born because he was actually measuring behind then too, even for being premature.

It really just may be that we are only finding out about it now.

And nobody can tell us what “it” could even possibly be.

Except that “it” probably isn’t good.

His pediatrician has referred us to several different specialists, but some of them are so booked up and high in demand that they can’t see him for another six months.

I think it’s asking a bit much to make us wait that long for any sort of answers.

I have some other avenues that I need to investigate, but now I am trying my hardest not to become overwhelmed with anxiety.

Because all this time, I knew that he was small. But now I look at him, and I wonder if his little body is more than just a leftover from being premature.

Maybe it’s a symptom of something much, much worse.

I really hope not.

Until then, I’m holding my breath.

Absolute Verification.

2010-11-27T10:49:00.001-06:00

Remember that ambiguous gender-determining ultrasound?

Well, I am still convinced that the picture we were sent home with is just a nice shot of the umbilical cord.

I managed to convince everyone else of this too. Even my husband who was absolutely sure we were having a boy until I posted this.

With so much doubt surrounding the accuracy of that first ultrasound, I couldn’t wait until we could have another one done. I just had to know.

And I ended up having to wait eight whole weeks for it.

Thanks to that hospital stay last week, we finally got a second look.

This time around, the ultrasound tech was amazing. She took a long time scanning the baby and went over everything on the screen with me. It was nice, considering most of them stay tight-lipped the whole time. She told me how the baby was lying and even went over measurements. The baby is measuring an entire week ahead (which will help if there is an early delivery) and the baby’s head is actually measuring two weeks ahead! Considering the way this kid has to exit, a bigger head is uh….yikes!

I asked her to check the baby’s sex again and she had no trouble finding a clear shot to print out for me.

There is no more second guessing now. We are officially having our third boy.

We figured as much, so no real surprises here. Like I said before, the real good news is that he is measuring ahead because my cervix is still effacing. Even with the progesterone injections. The doctors are now checking my cervical length and running Fetal Fibronectin tests every two weeks.

But with the way things are going, it looks like steriod shots for the baby’s lungs are in the very near future.

Other interventions, like stronger anti-contraction medication and the dreaded switch from modified to complete bedrest are becoming pretty strong possibilities at this point too.

As much as it might suck, I am willing to do anything at this point just to get this little guy to stay put until after the new year.

Because I know there is no way he is going to wait until the middle of February.

Tales from the Labor and Delivery Triage

2010-11-22T21:37:00.001-06:00

Things have been a little crazy lately.

Okay, maybe that is a bit of an understatement.

First things first, I took that horrendous three-hour glucose tolerance test.

I went into it thinking that my worst problem would be the boredom I would have to endure sitting around the waiting room in between blood draws.

I was wrong.

About ten minutes after I drank the glucose solution, I started to feel dizzy and nauseous. Really nauseous.

I told the phlebotomist that I felt like I needed to throw up.

She warned me that if I did, I would have to come back another day and do the whole test over again.

So I sucked it up and sat in the waiting room for another two and half hours watching HGTV and trying to hold in the upchuck.

Until I got out to the parking lot. Then I puked.

But at least I made it through all the blood draws first.

The test results came back two days later, and much to my surprise, I passed.

I had it the last time I was pregnant and my one hour test came back pretty high, so I figured I was doomed.

Especially since that 3 pound bag of Smarties I consumed during the week of Halloween couldn’t have helped any.

Even so, I don’t have gestational diabetes this time around. Hooray!

The good news was short lived though. Later that same night, I starting having cramps. And sharp contractions.

Much to my dismay, after several hours, I finally broke down and called the doctor.

Who sent me straight to Labor & Delivery at the hospital.

I ended up staying overnight, hooked up on the monitors. The contractions made my doctor nervous, so they gave me an injection to calm things down.

It didn’t work so well, so they gave me another one an hour later.

That was followed up with an oral dose an hour after that.

They would have sent me home with a script for the oral medication but decided not to because the side effects were worse than the contractions. I ended up with an excruciating headache that made me dizzy and nauseous.

Guess who threw up right before being discharged?

Yep, that was me.

The doctor threw around the idea of keeping me another night, but I was exhausted and really wanted to get home to my own bed at that point.

I don’t sleep in hospitals.

The big goal now is to make it past New Year’s with this baby still in my belly. Hopefully the modified bed rest, progesterone injections and muscle relaxers will do the trick.

Born Too Soon.

2010-11-17T20:48:00.001-06:00

Today is National Prematurity Awareness Day.

As the mother of a preemie with the very real possibility of having another premature birth in the near future, this day is especially significant for me.

Last year, Bronx was born five weeks early…and he wasn’t ready.

You can click here to read his birth story. Or click here to watch his video.

Bloody Hell.

2010-11-15T19:30:00.001-06:00

I broke into my stash for the first time in over a year tonight.

I didn’t want to, but I had to check the inventory.

Because I am afraid I might have to start shooting up again very soon.

Shooting up insulin, that is.

I got a phone call from the doctor’s office on Friday letting me know that I failed my glucose screen with flying colors.

Not exactly a surprise.

I was so sure that I wouldn’t pass that I would have put money on it, but it turns out people aren’t exactly comfortable placing bets on the outcome of someone’s health.

Who knew?

When I was pregnant with Bronx, I failed the one-hour screen by such a huge margin that I was automatically diagnosed with gestational diabetes and sent directly to the diabetes management center.

This time, I failed it by quite a bit, but not enough to get to skip the three-hour glucose tolerance test.

In case your not familiar, this means that bright and early tomorrow morning I get to sit in my doctor’s office for three hours doing nothing but starving and getting my blood drawn repeatedly. (I have to fast for 12 hours before and all during the testing.)

This is not my idea of fun.

Even worse, my husband has to take off of work to stay home with the kids while all this is going down.

So in a very twisted way, tomorrow morning is going to be like a pretend vacation for me.

Not exactly what I have in mind when I think about trying to snag a little “me” time.

I guess I’ll take what I can get.

Especially since pretty soon the only foreseeable free time I will be getting will be spent with some old “friends” of mine.

Some old “friends” that I have not been missing. At all.

I’m pretty sure that I won’t be passing tomorrow’s test.

And if I don’t, there’s another risk factor for preterm birth.

As if I already didn’t have enough.

Decisions, Decisions.

2010-11-12T17:06:00.001-06:00

It’s that time of the year yet again…

Time to pick out Christmas cards.

This is actually one of the few holiday things that I love to do. I am by no means a Grinch or anything, but there are some things about Christmas that make me more than a little Bah-Humbug.

Like Christmas music. Just the first few notes of a carol are enough to make me break out in hives.

And snow…which I know isn’t just exclusive to Christmas, but the sight of it makes me want to run away to a place where cold, white stuff falling from the sky is never in the forecast.

And elves totally give me the heebie jeebies. I actually think that one might have something to do with Will Ferrell.

But, I do love Christmas cards. Especially now that I have adorable children whose pictures I can plaster all over the front of them.

Because seriously, who wouldn’t want these cuties popping up in their mailbox?

This year, I am using Shutterfly to design my Christmas cards. I have used them for a number of different photo projects in the past few years and their products are always amazing.

Their photo books are great, (I have made one for each of my boys) and I absolutely fell in love with the birth announcements I ordered from them when Bronx was born last year:

How beautiful is that?! I swear, they have to be the most gorgeous announcements I have ever seen!

They have tons of other photo products in addition to cards that are useful this time of year too, including holiday gift tags and photo gifts.

So now I have to face the dilemma of having to choose the perfect card design. I used last year’s Christmas photos just to get an idea of what the finished cards would look like and now I am torn between these two…

I also kind of like this one, although the color scheme doesn’t really scream Christmas:

Which one do you think I should choose?

(**Thanks to Shutterfly, who will be providing me with 50 free cards for writing this post. If you are a fellow blogger and want to get in on the action, click here to sign up).

Mean Old Ladies.

2010-11-12T01:35:00.002-06:00

I’ve decided that if MTV wants to make me a decent offer, I will sign on to do the next season of Teen Mom.

Even though I am not a teenager. Not even close.

But I figure that if people want to keep treating me like I am, I might as well play one on TV.

(Yeah MTV, Add me to the roster. I can do baby momma drama just as well as the rest of them.)

For the most part, I have learned to deal with the dirty looks and stupid remarks.

It doesn’t really shock me anymore.

That is, until I ran into the mean, old ladies at Wal-Mart last night.

Or maybe I should just say Mean Old Lady, since I only heard one of them talking, but since she was talking to her friend in what appeared to be a mutual conversation, I am declaring the other lady guilty by association.

And this particular woman takes the cake when it comes to all the not-so-nice comments that have been directed toward my “teen” mom self.

These mean, old ladies were sitting in a booth at the in-store restaurant and I had stopped in that section to get an Icee.

After getting the drink, I had to pass by their booth to get back to the shopping area. They had given me classic dirty looks when I had passed by them coming in, but, like I said before, I’m used to that.

What got my attention was hearing, “And then you have these fifteen year-olds who have no trouble at all getting pregnant.”

I guess she could have been talking in general, except for the fact that she was staring me down. Staring down at very pregnant, little, young-looking me with an infant in my shopping cart.

It’s times like these when I almost wish that I were a little bit more confrontational. Because I would have loved to have thrown a few snotty words right back at her.

Of course, I didn’t. Sometimes, I have to remind myself that my ability to avoid fighting like the plague is probably the only reason why I don’t have a criminal record.

It’s probably also the reason that if I really were a teenager, MTV still wouldn’t be interested in me.

An Addendum

2010-11-11T00:13:00.001-06:00

I may have left a few teeny, tiny important details out of my last post.

For instance, how far along I am is kind of a big deal at this point, considering all this preterm labor concern.

26 weeks.

Past the point of viability, but still in very scary territory.

There are a million reasons why I need to keep this kid baking for another ten weeks at the very least, but most of them have to do with the fact that I really want nothing to do with a NICU that is almost an hour away.

I have already given birth to a premature infant, which is one of the reasons I am being monitored closely this time around.

I’m terrified of having to spend the first moments of this new baby’s life watching him struggle to breathe. Terrified of seeing him with wires sticking out of him everywhere.

Terrified of not being able to hold my newborn son.

I would absolutely hate to have to endure that again. But despite all of that, we were actually lucky last time.

I couldn’t imagine how heartbreaking the situation would be if I delivered him now.

Or even a month from now.

We really need those ten extra weeks.

Latest from the OB office.

2010-11-10T15:43:00.001-06:00

My second round of PIO injections went much better than the first time. Even though my husband said I jumped when the huge needle went into my booty, I have yet to feel any significant pain or discomfort.

All thanks to YouTube.

I found a video online of a lady giving herself the same injection in preparation for IVF, and after she took the needle out she rubbed the injection site to help spread out all the nasty oil.

That was the magic trick. I did it today after my injection and despite the weird look I got from the nurse and my husband, it worked.

Unfortunately, I don’t think the progesterone is really helping me any at this point. I had another ultrasound and my cervix is shortening. (FYI: The tech didn’t look at the baby even though I now have my husband doubting the last ultrasound, so he asked and I had to explain that she couldn’t see the baby while doing a transvaginal cervix check. The tech backed me up on that, so we are still without confirmation of the baby’s sex.)

All the cramps and sporadic contractions have been doing something and the progesterone may be slowing it down, but it isn’t stopping it.

I go back in tomorrow for a Fetal Fibronectin Test. If that comes back positive, then there could be lots more preterm intervention measures in my future.

I was pretty sure before, but now I am convinced.

This baby is coming early.

A Royal Pain in the Ass (Literally).

2010-11-03T18:59:00.001-05:00

My last OB appointment was with Dr. Coyote Ugly.

And I finally lost the battle over progesterone injections.

I tried to think of all the valid arguments that I had come up with about why I wanted to avoid them, but when she started interrogating me about it on the exam table, my mind went completely blank.

All I could come up with was the fact that other people I know have warned me about how uncomfortable the injections are.

That’s a pretty lame excuse when the doctor thinks that you could very likely deliver by 28 weeks and end up with a very tiny baby in a neonatal intensive care unit.

I knew how stupid I sounded as soon as the words left my mouth.

In my defense, up until last week, I never considered the baby at risk for delivering so extremely early. I knew from the beginning I would never make it to 40 weeks, but I never dreamed that I might be giving birth to a micro preemie.

But there is an extremely high possibility that could happen.

I have been cramping…and contracting. Quite often. And sometimes in patterns.

So, I shut up before I could sputter out any more nonsense and I let the doctor write up the order for the weekly injections.

I had the first one this morning. In the butt.

Letting a nurse shove a huge needle in my backside is not as fun as it may sound, and she has to give the injection slowly so the oil mixture will distribute itself evenly. It is awful. And I haven’t been able to sit or really walk since. It has made my entire left side from the waist down ache.

Those things freaking hurt!

Doing this every week for the next few months is really going to suck, especially since there is no way to tell if the progesterone will keep me from going into labor or not.

No one knows why I went into spontaneous preterm labor with Bronx. And if it happens again, it might not have anything to do with my progesterone levels.

It’s a “try it out and hope that it works” kind of treatment.

Which is one of the reasons I wanted to hold off, but of course, I couldn’t think of that while sitting in the hot seat.

Alcohol Abuse.

2010-10-28T20:50:00.001-05:00

My sister threw a Halloween party this past weekend.

And I just had to go and show off the most awesome maternity costume ever.

Forget the traditional pregnant nun getup, the little guy and I are going as Mommy & Baby Skeletor this year.

Oh, yeah. And our bones glow in the dark. So cool.

The only other time I have ever been knocked up for Halloween was when I was pregnant with Kamryn and since I was only about 6 weeks along then, I wore this:

Know this : One day I will hijack my old body back.

This is the first time that I have been pregnant and showing for Halloween…so I was really excited to dress up the belly. Make that SUPER DEE DUPER excited.

But then a very bad thing happened.

We arrived at my sister’s house around eight that night. She had been out at a football game all day tailgating, so let’s just say that she was fairly intoxicated by the time we showed up for her party.

Okay, actually she was completely drunk.

Shortly after we arrived, I started searching through her fridge for something to drink. Unfortunately, there were few options.

Beer and Coke Zero were my only choices.

Obviously, the first one was out of the question, and since my bout with gestational diabetes with my last pregnancy, Coke Zero and I only hook up on a desperate, need-be basis.

I really did not want to settle for the lesser of two evils.

So, I kept searching. That’s when I found a 20 oz. bottle of Tampico fruit punch sitting on the top shelf.

Ah, miracle of miracles.

It was already open, but only missing a few sips. I pulled it out and asked my sister if it was hers. She said yes, so I asked her if I could have it and again, she said yes.

I poured roughly half the bottle into a plastic drinking cup and took a drink.

About two and a half sips later, some guy came over to where we were and started chatting with me and my husband. A few minutes into the conversation, he noticed the Tampico bottle next to me on the counter and motioned to my cup.

“Are you drinking my punch?” He asked.

“What? This is my sister’s.” I reply and then I turn to my sister and say,

“This is yours, right?”

My sister responds with a no.

“So, you are drinking my punch!” Random guy exclaims.

Yuck. I had just discovered that I was drinking after a total stranger. Heebie Jeebies quickly ensued.

All I could think about was how I may have just been exposed to millions of disgusting germs.

Yes, I am a total germaphobe.

Seconds later, another equally terrifying thought crossed my mind.

That punch had tasted sweet. Really sweet. A little too sweet.

I passed the cup to my husband and told him to try it. I explained to him that I was suspicious about it being only fruit punch. He couldn’t tell, so he asked random guy.

My fears were confirmed. Random guy had mixed it with some sort of green liquor.

The punch had been spiked.

I unintentionally drank while pregnant.

I started to panic as the reality of what had happened sunk in.

I knew that I didn’t consume enough to amount to much of anything, but I was still a little freaked. I never drink when I am pregnant. Not a drop. I have had people tell me that a glass of champagne or wine is fine in moderation, but I think that it’s a risk too big to take. No one knows how much alcohol is “safe” to drink while pregnant. And knowing that a developing fetus doesn’t have the capability to metabolize alcohol the way an adult would, all I can think of is for every drink that you have, the baby sits for hours in a pool of alcohol-infused amniotic fluid.

It really scares the pants off me.

Plus, I’m not a big drinker when I’m not pregnant, so I’m not really missing much.

That’s why the accidental ingestion made me a little nervous. Until my husband helped me come to the conclusion that the few sips I took probably didn’t contain enough alcohol to even make it to the placenta.

Sometimes it helps to be married to someone so rational.

Then again, I still think I’ll be staying away from fruit punch for awhile.

Jumping to Conclusions.

2010-10-22T14:45:00.001-05:00

I usually accompany my husband to my three-year old’s weekly karate class.

Last week, I decided to stay at home.

Oddly enough, people noticed.

One of the other dads even decided to question my husband about my unexplained absence.

The conversation went something like this:

Other dad said, “Hey, your wife isn’t here tonight, did she have the baby?”

My husband, completely shocked, replied “No. She’s only 5 months.”

Other dad, slightly confused, said “Oh, really? Wow. She looks like she could go any day now.”

Thanks, dude.

21 weeks along, and apparently, I look like I’m ready to pop.

Exhibit “B”

2010-10-16T13:16:00.001-05:00

I managed to find the gender confirmation ultrasound shots for both of the boys.

I think it’s time for a little comparison.

Kamryn’s ultrasound:

Bronx’s ultrasound:

Clearly obvious.

When you look at the boys’ scans, it makes the new baby’s picture seem ridiculously ambiguous. I think another ultrasound is a good idea at this point…

The Proof.

2010-10-15T17:55:00.001-05:00

Ever wanted to test out your skills as an ultrasonographer?

Here’s your big chance.

I have the “money shot” from our last ultrasound.

And I’m going to see if you can see what I (possibly because I might be in a little bit of denial) see.

Or maybe you will see what the tech and the doctor (and possibly I) saw.

Then you, the jury, can render your verdict.

Trust me, I have some pretty compelling evidence here.

Here is the original shot:

And here is the image with the important parts circled, showing how the medical professionals determined that the baby is a boy:

It seems pretty obvious. However, upon closer inspection, I spied something rather interesting:

Do you see how the alleged penis lines up exactly with something that runs all the way to the edge of the picture?(Click on it to enlarge)

I know that I could be completely off base with this, but I’m thinking…

UMBILICAL CORD!

Anyone willing to give their expert (or not-so expert) opinion on this?

I’d love to know what you think.

I’m Loving Angels Instead.

2010-10-15T16:57:00.001-05:00

Disturbing Behavior.

2010-10-14T20:50:00.000-05:00

I am usually a laid-back, ultra-chill kind of girl.

Until someone messes with one of my kids.

Last week, someone unfortunately did.

And now, without further ado, I am going to go on a crazy mommy rant about it. (Grab a Snickers, we could be here awhile.)

Here is what happened:

(Dramatization of actual event)

Kamryn attends an afternoon preschool program at our local high school. Last Wednesday, Kamryn was bit (and I think also scratched) by this Tasmanian devil of a kid in his class. The teacher (who is supposed to be supervising the high schoolers who are, in turn, supervising the little kids) went out of her way to inform the parent of the little aspiring Mike Tyson, but did not make an effort at all to inform me that my child was hurt. Kamryn told me on the way to the car and I had to chase after the teacher and ask her if he was indeed bitten like he said. She briefly explained that he was, she had put ice on it and that the other child was suspended from class the next day. I wanted to press her further, but she was trying to shuffle some of the other kids back to their parents, so we loaded up and went home.

A short while later, when I was back in my kitchen and had started cleaning and bandaging the bite, I saw scratch marks all over his neck and face and noticed that he was absolutely filthy. It looked like he had been in an all-out playground brawl. So, I picked up the phone and called the teacher at the high school. I asked her about the additional war wounds that I didn’t initially see at the pick-up, because I was a little distracted by Kamryn pointing out the teeth prints in his arm. She had no explanation. I told her that I wasn't too shocked about a biting incident going down in a room full of preschoolers, but that I was really concerned about the fact that no one made an attempt to notify me of the situation. She explained that this has never happened before and that she didn't know what to do, so she had went to the administration. She said that she had planned to call me later that day.

Even if that were true, (and I don't think it is...I think she was just trying to cover her ass) it is still unacceptable to 1) not be prepared for this type of situation ahead of time and 2) to not have enough common sense to let the mother of the child who was injured what was going on, despite the fact that she went out of her way to come out ten minutes early with the offending child to let his mother know what was going on. Are you freaking kidding me? Obviously a bite can sometimes warrant medical attention and I would never have known if Kamryn hadn't told me. Any normal person would know that is not the responsibility of a three year old. Although, I am starting to think that maybe they were banking on the odds that maybe Kamryn wouldn’t tell me and then they would be free and clear of any liability issues.

What makes me even more distressed is that when I was on the phone with the teacher she told me that she didn't know how Kamryn got the additional scratches, but she admitted that out of 10 high school students and herself, no one witnessed what had happened and only one student discovered what was going on when Kamryn finally screamed. That is ridiculous considering there are only 8-10 kids in the class to begin with. Someone should have been watching.

The whole operation seems a little disorganized at best and now I am afraid that the children aren't being supervised properly. Case in point, the day after the biting incident, as the high schoolers were bringing the kids outside for pick-up, one of the teenagers turned the kid she was walking out loose as soon as they were out the front door without looking to see if his mother was even there. The kid dashed right out into the parking lot. Furthermore, the teacher is new (I guess she is replacing someone who taught the class for 30 years) and from what she has told me and her actions, I don't think she knows what the heck she is doing. I'm keeping a close watch for the remaining 7 weeks of the program...but if anything crazy happens again, I'm yanking Kamryn out of the class and I will be notifying the school administration. Until then, I’m more than a little bit apprehensive.

This is my first experience with problems at a school, and I know that this likely won’t be my last. The only good things to come out of this is that the biter was ultimately expelled from the class and I think that my phone call to the school made the teacher a little intimidated by me, so I don’t think she will let anything else happen to Kamryn on her watch.

I think the other kids may still be attending at their own risk, though.