Friday, I had my 12-week ultrasound (though, really? I'm 13 weeks pregnant already). It went beautifully. The doctor and his assistant-lady were super sweet and kind. See, this ultrasound is technically a screening for trisomy 13, 18, and 21 (21 being Down's Syndrome). We won't mind if the baby has Down's, but it will change the way we plan for it, and that's why chose to do the testing. At least, that's the logical, medical reason.
Honestly? A big part of me just wanted to see the baby again. :)
Anyhow, preparing for the appointment, I thought back to my 12-week ultrasound with Miles. And I laughed. Because that was our first clue at the child he would become, and we were so completely clueless. We thought it was cute and funny how he bounced around so much that they couldn't get the measurements they needed for a full 45 minutes. In fact, we loved it because it meant we got to watch our baby a little longer. We had no idea that the frenetic energy he displayed that day would be so indicative of his personality - always on the go, never stopping, never even slowing down.
This ultrasound could not have been more different.
Right away, we saw Baby, relaxing, stretched out, almost lounging. As the doctor began to get the measurements he needed, I watched and waited for Baby to start bouncing, or responding. At one point, Baby began to roll a bit to one side, and I thought, "Here it comes!" But, no. It was just a stretch, and Baby quickly returned to it's lounging position. A few minutes in, Baby's foot kicked four or five times, lazily, and once, toward the end, Baby's hand raised and waved, as if to say, "Hi, Mom and Dad. It's cool in here. Peace." Other than that, Baby just laid there, quiet and chill. And within ten minutes, it was all over, having gone as smoothly as possible.
Patrick and I talked on the way home, wondering if this, too, may be indicative of Baby's personality. If so, the laid-back calm will be a welcome balance to Miles and his wild tornado-like qualities. Also? It means that once again, everything will be new. And that alone makes it exciting.
Oh, and we found out that we have a really low chance of having a child with Down's. So, yay for that, too!
Monday, October 22, 2012
Friday, October 19, 2012
Silence
It's no secret that the last couple of months have been a little hectic. Rehearsals twice a week, Festival on the weekends, and trying not to stay in bed all day from pregnancy exhaustion. Lots of good things have come from it, and I don't regret the decisions I made in any way. But I am tired, weary from the pace, and ready for a break.
Last night, we opened our Halloween show, and it went beautifully. We were lucky to perform for a very enthusiastic and friendly audience, who really wanted to support us in every way. It was filled with family and friends who have become family, all smiling, laughing, and generally having a good time.
Since Patrick and I are both in the show, Miles stayed with Aunt Ninell last night, and because she is a saint beyond measure, she offered to keep him overnight. Patrick had already taken today off to deal with the show and his sister's wedding, which is tomorrow. So, of course, we slept in, and relished the extra hours of rest.
Now, we sit here, in warm, comfortable silence. The clicking of my keyboard is the only sound. Neither of us has given up on the pajamas quite yet, and for all the world, this feels like the early days of our marriage. Quiet. Peaceful. Low-key.
Except now, there is a small part in each of us that aches for our little boy to be here, too. We have really spent so little time together as a family lately that these few precious hours are bittersweet. It is lovely to be well-rested, and as parents, the silence is always welcome. But there is also a twinge of sadness in the peace. And it is in this moment that we realize how ready we really are for this show to be over. To settle into the steady routine of winter. It is time, for us at least, to welcome our boring little life back.
And so, we count down the days until November.
Last night, we opened our Halloween show, and it went beautifully. We were lucky to perform for a very enthusiastic and friendly audience, who really wanted to support us in every way. It was filled with family and friends who have become family, all smiling, laughing, and generally having a good time.
Since Patrick and I are both in the show, Miles stayed with Aunt Ninell last night, and because she is a saint beyond measure, she offered to keep him overnight. Patrick had already taken today off to deal with the show and his sister's wedding, which is tomorrow. So, of course, we slept in, and relished the extra hours of rest.
Now, we sit here, in warm, comfortable silence. The clicking of my keyboard is the only sound. Neither of us has given up on the pajamas quite yet, and for all the world, this feels like the early days of our marriage. Quiet. Peaceful. Low-key.
Except now, there is a small part in each of us that aches for our little boy to be here, too. We have really spent so little time together as a family lately that these few precious hours are bittersweet. It is lovely to be well-rested, and as parents, the silence is always welcome. But there is also a twinge of sadness in the peace. And it is in this moment that we realize how ready we really are for this show to be over. To settle into the steady routine of winter. It is time, for us at least, to welcome our boring little life back.
And so, we count down the days until November.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Light at the end of the Tunnel
Sunday is the last day of Festival.
Two weeks from Sunday, the Halloween show will close.
Next week is officially the end of my first trimester, and I will be having an ultrasound that Friday.
In other words, if I can survive the next two weeks, life should get a lot quieter, and a fair margin easier.
November, I am so ready to see you.
Two weeks from Sunday, the Halloween show will close.
Next week is officially the end of my first trimester, and I will be having an ultrasound that Friday.
In other words, if I can survive the next two weeks, life should get a lot quieter, and a fair margin easier.
November, I am so ready to see you.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
A Day in the Life of Us. . .
The television is on right now. Again. Still. In fact, the television is on way more than I'd like to admit lately. I am tired - beyond tired. I am exhausted, mentally, physically, emotionally. If I can manage to drag my butt out of bed in the morning, I call it a success. If I can manage to get the kid breakfast and juice, woo-hoo! And if I can manage to choke down some cereal to prevent the Return of the Nausea, it's time to party. And by party, I mean sleep. But, since I have a three-year-old tornado-boy, I can't sleep. So, I turn on the television and vegetate in the chair, trying to figure out things like "Is Sir Toppam Hat's first name Toppam? If so, why does one of the characters call him Bertram from time to time? And either way, who the hell named their kid Toppam? Or Bertram? And why doesn't Lady Hat have a first name? The dude gets two first names, but his wife doesn't even warrant one?" And so on. Because I have seen entirely too much Thomas the Tank Engine recently.
At some point, I have to pause in my pondering of children's tv shows because Miles craps his pants, and I have to clean him up, and clean out his underwear, and reassure him that I don't hate him. The kid has this complex that if I tell him 'poop goes in the toilet', he hears, "You pooped your pants, so I will never love you again." So, I gag as I clean up poop, and then I cuddle a sobbing toddler for half an hour until he figures out we're okay.
Eventually, he decides he's bored of sad, and pushes himself out of my lap - using every elbow, knee, and other pointy bit he has. As a side note? This kid seems to have twice as many angles as other kids. And they always end up in my gut. Repeatedly. Sigh.
Lunchtime always comes, somehow, and I fight the battle of "What will you eat today?" The conversation goes something like this:
Me: Do you want soup?
Miles: No. No soup.
Me: Rice?
Miles: No rice.
Me: Chicken nuggets?
Miles: No chicken chunks. [He insists on calling them chicken chunks, which makes me think of puke, every time. Gross.]
Me: Pancakes?
Miles: No.
[Repeat, ad nauseum]
Me: What do you want to eat?
Miles: Ummmm. . . SOUP!
So, I make him soup, and he eats two bites and declares it 'Yucky' and decides he wants fruit snacks for lunch. Cue tantrums, as I try to convince him to eat the soup first. Repeat. Meanwhile, I'm looking for toothpicks to prop my eyes open. . .
Then, comes my favorite time of day: Naptime. Through LOOOOOOONG months of arguing, fussing, yelling, sobbing, fighting, screaming, and general horribleness, Miles now lays down quietly, asks for a song (or more often "No sing, Mommy. No sing."), and I tuck him in and go to bed myself. The only complaint I have is that naptime is never long enough. As soon as I shut my eyes, Miles is bouncing on the bed, full of energy to start again.
I drag myself out of bed again, and we go straight to the television again, so I can continue pondering the intricacies of the Island of Sodor, and try to wake my brain enough to function.
All I can say is: Thank God for Netflix. Sigh.
At some point, I have to pause in my pondering of children's tv shows because Miles craps his pants, and I have to clean him up, and clean out his underwear, and reassure him that I don't hate him. The kid has this complex that if I tell him 'poop goes in the toilet', he hears, "You pooped your pants, so I will never love you again." So, I gag as I clean up poop, and then I cuddle a sobbing toddler for half an hour until he figures out we're okay.
Eventually, he decides he's bored of sad, and pushes himself out of my lap - using every elbow, knee, and other pointy bit he has. As a side note? This kid seems to have twice as many angles as other kids. And they always end up in my gut. Repeatedly. Sigh.
Lunchtime always comes, somehow, and I fight the battle of "What will you eat today?" The conversation goes something like this:
Me: Do you want soup?
Miles: No. No soup.
Me: Rice?
Miles: No rice.
Me: Chicken nuggets?
Miles: No chicken chunks. [He insists on calling them chicken chunks, which makes me think of puke, every time. Gross.]
Me: Pancakes?
Miles: No.
[Repeat, ad nauseum]
Me: What do you want to eat?
Miles: Ummmm. . . SOUP!
So, I make him soup, and he eats two bites and declares it 'Yucky' and decides he wants fruit snacks for lunch. Cue tantrums, as I try to convince him to eat the soup first. Repeat. Meanwhile, I'm looking for toothpicks to prop my eyes open. . .
Then, comes my favorite time of day: Naptime. Through LOOOOOOONG months of arguing, fussing, yelling, sobbing, fighting, screaming, and general horribleness, Miles now lays down quietly, asks for a song (or more often "No sing, Mommy. No sing."), and I tuck him in and go to bed myself. The only complaint I have is that naptime is never long enough. As soon as I shut my eyes, Miles is bouncing on the bed, full of energy to start again.
I drag myself out of bed again, and we go straight to the television again, so I can continue pondering the intricacies of the Island of Sodor, and try to wake my brain enough to function.
All I can say is: Thank God for Netflix. Sigh.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Dear Miles,
Today, you officially turned three years old. You haven't been my baby for awhile yet, but now, even toddlerhood is becoming a memory. Today, you officially enter the 'preschooler' age range. As of today, I can no longer deny that you are growing up far more quickly than I ever could have imagined. You are a full-fledged kid, where once you were a cuddly, squishy baby.
You have come so far already, and I am proud of what you are becoming. You are fascinated by your world, and especially the letters, numbers, words, and stories that make it up. You have known your letters for ages, but now, you know their signs, their sounds, and you are beginning to understand that letters become words. You randomly spout things like, "S-T-O-P, Stop!" and "T-O-Y, Toy!" You count to ten constantly, but you can count as high as fifteen without help, and easily to thirty with a minimal amount of prompting. You count down from ten to one, before your rocket ships "Blast off!" You're trying to figure out writing, but it eludes you, as it takes a patience and quiet that you have not yet learned. I try to encourage you in all of this, all while thinking, Please, my baby, don't grow up too fast.
Life with you is like running a marathon - there are days that I can hardly keep up, and I'm fighting just to keep going, but when the day is done, I'm proud of how far we've come together. You are so active, so physical in every way, and this poor non-athletic, nerdy mama of yours just doesn't know how to challenge you. You run faster than most kids twice your age. You can throw and catch a tennis ball without much effort. You climb everything (but then, you've been doing that for ages). You jump. You roll. You taught yourself to somersault. You wrestle with your stuffed toys, and with your daddy, and you don't understand why mommy can't wrestle, too.
Someday, you will understand that I have to protect your little brother or sister, but for now, you are blissfully unaware of how much your life is about to change. All you know is that Mommy is so tired, and kinda grumpy. Being the sensitive child you are, you understand, in your way, and ask for cuddles and books and quiet things on my worst days. And in this, I have found a side of you I never knew. I never knew you could be the nurturer that you are. When you ask, "Mommy, you okay?" or cuddle in just to say, "I love you," my heart swells to bursting with the pride and love for all that you are.
You, my child, are a walking (running) contradiction, at times. Wild, yet gentle. Demanding, yet generous. My tornado, and my still water. You are, in no uncertain terms, independent, yet you adore the company and interaction of others. You are never timid, rarely reserved, and yet, you speak so little, except to us lucky few.
Part of that, however, is your speech, which has worried us a bit for a couple of months. We worked on making you 'use your words' and slow down, thinking perhaps, that was all you needed. As your third birthday approached, however, it became increasingly clear that you needed more than that. Soon, now, you will have a speech screening and begin speech therapy classes. We hope that, given a little help, you will be the chatterbox we can see you want to be.
My dear, loving, rambunctious boy, I love you with all of my heart. I look forward to all of our adventures to come, and I am so thankful for each adventure we've faced so far. You are a shining light to all who know you, and I am lucky and blessed to call you mine, at least for a little while longer.
Ever your champion, and your biggest fan,
Mommy
You have come so far already, and I am proud of what you are becoming. You are fascinated by your world, and especially the letters, numbers, words, and stories that make it up. You have known your letters for ages, but now, you know their signs, their sounds, and you are beginning to understand that letters become words. You randomly spout things like, "S-T-O-P, Stop!" and "T-O-Y, Toy!" You count to ten constantly, but you can count as high as fifteen without help, and easily to thirty with a minimal amount of prompting. You count down from ten to one, before your rocket ships "Blast off!" You're trying to figure out writing, but it eludes you, as it takes a patience and quiet that you have not yet learned. I try to encourage you in all of this, all while thinking, Please, my baby, don't grow up too fast.
Life with you is like running a marathon - there are days that I can hardly keep up, and I'm fighting just to keep going, but when the day is done, I'm proud of how far we've come together. You are so active, so physical in every way, and this poor non-athletic, nerdy mama of yours just doesn't know how to challenge you. You run faster than most kids twice your age. You can throw and catch a tennis ball without much effort. You climb everything (but then, you've been doing that for ages). You jump. You roll. You taught yourself to somersault. You wrestle with your stuffed toys, and with your daddy, and you don't understand why mommy can't wrestle, too.
Someday, you will understand that I have to protect your little brother or sister, but for now, you are blissfully unaware of how much your life is about to change. All you know is that Mommy is so tired, and kinda grumpy. Being the sensitive child you are, you understand, in your way, and ask for cuddles and books and quiet things on my worst days. And in this, I have found a side of you I never knew. I never knew you could be the nurturer that you are. When you ask, "Mommy, you okay?" or cuddle in just to say, "I love you," my heart swells to bursting with the pride and love for all that you are.
You, my child, are a walking (running) contradiction, at times. Wild, yet gentle. Demanding, yet generous. My tornado, and my still water. You are, in no uncertain terms, independent, yet you adore the company and interaction of others. You are never timid, rarely reserved, and yet, you speak so little, except to us lucky few.
Part of that, however, is your speech, which has worried us a bit for a couple of months. We worked on making you 'use your words' and slow down, thinking perhaps, that was all you needed. As your third birthday approached, however, it became increasingly clear that you needed more than that. Soon, now, you will have a speech screening and begin speech therapy classes. We hope that, given a little help, you will be the chatterbox we can see you want to be.
My dear, loving, rambunctious boy, I love you with all of my heart. I look forward to all of our adventures to come, and I am so thankful for each adventure we've faced so far. You are a shining light to all who know you, and I am lucky and blessed to call you mine, at least for a little while longer.
Ever your champion, and your biggest fan,
Mommy
Monday, September 24, 2012
I'm Alive
ish.
Baby is fine. Miles is. . .Miles, with all that implies. Patrick is good, and possibly a saint for everything he does so I can be a laze-about groaning about my tummy. The cat is highly amusing, in that she simultaneously adores Miles and is terrified by him. Stacey is, I think, doing well. I see her on occasion, so I'm sure she's at least still alive. Faire is exhausting. Frankenstein (the Halloween show I agreed to assistant direct before I knew about this whole pregnancy thing) is exhausting. Miles is exhausting. Typing is exhausting. I completely lost it and cried to Maestro yesterday about how exhausted I am (not really his fault, poor guy). I'm that sort of exhausted where no amount of sleep helps. It's just never enough.
And this week, I'm dealing with the emotional roller-coaster of realizing that my son, my wonderful, amazing baby boy, is no longer a baby. Hell, he's not even a toddler anymore. He is officially in the 'preschooler' age range, which we all know is a hop, skip, and a jump from graduating high school and moving out and getting married. And pregnancy hormones mean I'm vacillating between sobbing madly at the thought that he's all grown up already, and sobbing, wondering when will he stop crapping his pants?!? In any case, there's a lot of sobbing.
As if that weren't enough, an ultrasound last week made this pregnancy seem really real for the first time. I'm going to be holding a little bundle of blankets and cuteness in a few months, which makes me all moony and wistful and excited. And then it hits me that the bundle will also contain poop, and spit-up, and screaming sleeplessness, and I want to go hide in a corner and sob some more.
Pregnancy really does kinda suck.
Baby is fine. Miles is. . .Miles, with all that implies. Patrick is good, and possibly a saint for everything he does so I can be a laze-about groaning about my tummy. The cat is highly amusing, in that she simultaneously adores Miles and is terrified by him. Stacey is, I think, doing well. I see her on occasion, so I'm sure she's at least still alive. Faire is exhausting. Frankenstein (the Halloween show I agreed to assistant direct before I knew about this whole pregnancy thing) is exhausting. Miles is exhausting. Typing is exhausting. I completely lost it and cried to Maestro yesterday about how exhausted I am (not really his fault, poor guy). I'm that sort of exhausted where no amount of sleep helps. It's just never enough.
And this week, I'm dealing with the emotional roller-coaster of realizing that my son, my wonderful, amazing baby boy, is no longer a baby. Hell, he's not even a toddler anymore. He is officially in the 'preschooler' age range, which we all know is a hop, skip, and a jump from graduating high school and moving out and getting married. And pregnancy hormones mean I'm vacillating between sobbing madly at the thought that he's all grown up already, and sobbing, wondering when will he stop crapping his pants?!? In any case, there's a lot of sobbing.
As if that weren't enough, an ultrasound last week made this pregnancy seem really real for the first time. I'm going to be holding a little bundle of blankets and cuteness in a few months, which makes me all moony and wistful and excited. And then it hits me that the bundle will also contain poop, and spit-up, and screaming sleeplessness, and I want to go hide in a corner and sob some more.
Pregnancy really does kinda suck.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Festival
It has started, and so, my 'social life' and 'free time' have all but evaporated. I thought when we put Miles in school two days a week that it would help me get stuff done - like blogging on occasion, or I don't know, cleaning my house or something.
Um, not so much.
Because about the time Festival started, First Trimester also hit, in all of it's nauseous, exhaustion-inducing glory. I nap. And eat toast and other bland things. And try not feel like I'm dying.
So if I don't post often - or at all - for the next few weeks, just know that I'm probably snoring instead. :)
Um, not so much.
Because about the time Festival started, First Trimester also hit, in all of it's nauseous, exhaustion-inducing glory. I nap. And eat toast and other bland things. And try not feel like I'm dying.
So if I don't post often - or at all - for the next few weeks, just know that I'm probably snoring instead. :)
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