Following In My Shoes

I Might Be Insane

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 14:30:00 +0000

This is so very, very sad, but I simply can't help it.

Each morning, it begins -- these thoughts that take over my brain, consuming my day. I think on it while taking care of my kids, imagining the worst possibilities and how they, my sweet babies, would be affected.

Last night, after Mr. Boy's 3:30 AM diaper change, I couldn't go back to sleep thanks to thoughts that kept swirling round and round and round my sleep deprived brain. Did I have all I needed to be prepared? Should I go to the store and start stocking up on the essentials? Will Hubby be around for all that needs to done? Will my children be safe during this time? How do I know when I've done enough to prepare?

Yes. 3:30 AM. Thought after thought. Question after question. All because it's the first week of November, which means . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I. Am. Ready. To. Start. Decorating. For. CHRISTMAS!!!!

(isn't it just so sad!)

Yesterday, I spent HOURS mentally cataloging my trees (yes, plural), ornaments, nutcrackers, and general decorations. I researched stocking patterns, as I've decided that THIS year I am making personalized stockings. I even began making a list of the sweets and goodies that I want to make (mmmmm . . .Divinity and Toffee!).

Please, someone -- ANYONE -- tell me that I'm not the only one!

First Family Photo (and more)

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 14:36:00 +0000

This is a shameless "for the family" post; we have a Gramie, Papa, Nina, and a Poppi that need to see some Halloween pics!!!

(Zoo Boo -- I'm so glad we purchased a zoo membership; this event was so much fun and the Little Lady is ready to go back!)

(Daddy and his babies . . . and one big Elephant hiney)

(A very tired Dalmatian puppy, suffering from a Halloween candy sugar crash)

(My Little Monkey Boy . . . .can you believe my husband, after our day at the zoo, wanted to add a red and blue "hiney" to this costume? Yeah -- the monkey exhibit inspired him.)

(It doesn't look like he really trusts her as she holds him . . . for the first time completely by herself)

A very tiring but fun Halloween . . . the Little Lady, who LOVED Trick or Treating, is still trying to convince us that we need to let her keep her candy in her room. Um, yeah right!

Thanks, Hubby, For The Big Girl Panties

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 19:23:00 +0000

Men. You can't live with them and you just can't shoot them. Well, you could, but then you'd go to jail and they would starve to death in a dirty house.

My poor husband tries to make my life easier. He's always doing something that he thinks is a good idea, one that will "help me out."

This week's good deed? He bought "big girl panties" for the Little Lady. REAL ones -- not the thick, training pant style that I had already purchased. Oh, no. The real, thin, cotton, plastered with princesses kind. You know . . . the kind that doesn't hold liquid very well.

To be fair, we have been talking to her about wearing them, telling her tales of princess underwear and diaper-less days. BUT, I was hoping to postpone potty training till, oh say, January. Yeah, I thought January would be a GREAT month to start. All of our holiday travels would be a thing of the past, and Mr. Boy would be past the newborn stage and need less attention, allowing me to spend more time hovering with The Little Lady around her little personal toilet.

Hubby had different ideas and decided, about three weeks ago, that potty-training needed to start NOW. I can see how he would think it was a good decision, considering how MOMMY is the one home all day and has "all the time in the world" to work on this goal. (sigh)

Last night, during a trip he and the Little Lady took to Target, Hubby bribed her into being good with the promise of BIG GIRL PANTIES. (I guess he didn't realize that she's pretty easy and a $1 bag of popcorn does the trick)

When they came home, she ran through the door, carrying a Target bag, and rushed over to me. "I wanna show you sum-ping!" And, she pulled out a 7-pack of Disney Princess panties. "Yook! I got Big Gurl Pannies!"

Oh, they're so cute. Adorable. . .

Um, they were.

Now, I'm tired of them and we're only on day one! The Little Lady is constantly taking them off so she can "tee-tee." Yeah, I know that's the point, but this game just isn't fun . . . at least, not for Mommy. Once she's "done", I have to stop what I'm doing to help her put them back on. If I don't help, those panties are inside out, backwards, and she's put both legs in one leg-hole. (yes, this has happened more than once)

As soon as I have them back on her, they're off again . . .and she is either heading for the potty (which is oh-so-conveniently here in our living room) OR she is running to our big picture window. Yeah, lucky me - - it's "trash-day" and she keeps waiting for the trashmen . . . stark NAKED in the window. (oy vey, what kind of girl am I raising?)

I'm sooooo over big girl panties right now.

Just like I'm sooooo over the plastic spider ring that she keeps shoving down my nursing tank so it can "see Mommy's boobies."

Anyone need a two year old? Or, an overly helpful husband? Just let me know -- I've got both.

Afternoon Delight: My Moment as a Stripper

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 15:29:00 +0000

Yes, it's true. Well-- sort of.

A truck full of young men mistook me (and two friends from my House Church group) for a bunch of strippers. Ahem, excuse me, ~~exotic~~ dancers.

(Sigh)

It was such an innocent trip on a clear Sunday evening. After ~~sticking~~ leaving all of the kiddos with our husbands, it was just us three ladies heading to a girlfriend's house for a night of girls only fellowship. Sounds perfectly normal right? Of course it does! Three "Church Ladies." That's what we were -- modestly dressed, coiffed, and securely buckled in the seats of an unassuming white Dodge pickup.

But, to the men of Houston, I guess Ladies of the Night come in all forms -- even the demure little housewife shape (not that any of us are what I'd call demure and I'm certainly not little!).

One wrong turn. That was all it took to bring on the whoops, hollers, and cat-calls.

Of course, I was the one, after we realized we were on the wrong street, who decided to pull into the "Splendor Adult Entertainment" parking lot in order to turn around. On a side note, what is it with the names of such establishments? SPLENDOR? Seriously? This wasn't a very nice street and the building certainly didn't have anything on the outside that lived up to such an adjective. Cold beige metal siding . . .harsh, cheap lighting . . . a couple of sickly looking Sago Palms. Yeah, really splendorous.

We were only in the parking lot a few seconds -- just long enough to make a quick u-turn (and to shake fingers at some of the older men who were heading into the club . . . who were NOT making eye contact with us). But, those few little grains of time were enough for us to be spotted. Not by the shamefaced attendees previously mentioned -- nope. Our watchers were in a blue pick-up: three young, college aged looking boys. The kind of young boys that think strippers, of any age, are hot.

HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

"WOO HOO!" YEAH! WOOOOOO!"

It took the three of us LADIES a few discombobulated seconds to realize these boys were hollering at us. US! Dudes -- we're a bunch of MOMS! Two of us are nursing -- no sexy lingerie in our wardrobes! We weren't wearing flashy, contour-altering make-up . . . our hair wasn't teased and curled. We were all in jeans and tee-shirts. Heck, maternity jeans for me, which are definitely the opposite of sexy!

They followed us down the darkening street, still honking and hoping for our attention, until they finally drove up the entrance ramp to the freeway -- still leaning out of their open windows, grinning from ear to ear at us.

Is it a compliment to us? A testament to our unwavering womanly wiles?

I'm not so sure. It was a Sunday. Late, late afternoon. I've never been in a strip club, but (on TV) Sunday afternoons aren't exactly known for being the "cool, hot girls" shift. But, maybe it is at Splendor's. Maybe that's why it has that name.

Regardless, it was enough to make a trio of church Mommies laugh . . . and give us some fodder for ribbing our husbands when we got back.

Oh yeah, I DEFINITELY told my husband that a bunch of college boys think I'm hot. Capital H-O-T!

Then, I asked if I could please, please go shopping for some NON maternity pants. 'Cause if I'm going to believe those silly boys . . . I definitely need non-stretchy attire.

The Face Says It All

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 17:45:00 +0000

Wondering what it's like having a two year old?

'Nuff said.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 13:30:00 +0000

Yeah . . . I know I'm cute!

Guess who turned 8 weeks old today? 8 WEEKS!

Can this really be? I no longer have a tiny, wrinkly newborn . . . I have a MAN-CHILD. (Seriously, you, my kid, weigh a TON).

How did this happen and why didn't I realize that this change was occuring? Perhaps my sleep deprived state is to blame, but I missed the moment you transformed from this . . .

to THIS. . .

Now, instead of a confused and angry new one, you are a bubbly, talkative, personality filled little baby boy. You love to smile at your Mommy, giving me both sweet smiles and big ol' grins all day long. My favorite ones, though, are the ones you give me while your nursing. You take a little break, lean back and look into my eyes with the most adorable, precious smile -- as if to let me know I really am your most "favoritest" person in the whole world. (Don't worry -- I do realize this story will mortify you someday and I will refrain from telling it . . . too often, anyway.)

You've also turned into quite the little talker, I might add. We have the most delightful conversations where you, with such animation, tell me all the secrets of being a baby and your take on the world around you. And, we laugh about your silly sister and your crazy daddy. You think they are H.I.L.A.R.I.O.U.S!

I have to admit, prior to meeting you, Mister Boy, I wasn't too sure about a "boy mommy." I wasn't looking forward to ugly boy toys -- insects, dinosaurs, and video games -- and I'd been told that little boys stay in a perpetual state of dirty, noisy chaos.

But, for now, I've found that being your mommy is just like being your sister's mommy: utterly amazing.

Not MY Child Monday

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 17:12:00 +0000

(1) MY child did not get soooo excited about her first set of "big girl panties," that she sang (AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS, mind you) "I got Big Girl Panties," to the tune of "B-I-N-G-O," the entire time we were grocery shopping. No, my child would be a little more ladylike than that.

(2) MY child did not decide that coloring on paper is boring and choose, instead, to try creating her own frescos . . . in TWO rooms of my house. No, my child wouldn't do that -- especially because I do "such" a good job of monitoring her with her crayons. Oh . . .and MY child also never, ever, EVER color on windows. Never.

(3) MY child would not use the phrase "No way, Jose" when speaking to her daddy, and she certainly wouldn't have learned it from her Mommy. Goodness, she most certainly would NOT have heard her Mommy saying that to Daddy.

(4) MY other child did not decide to become a projectile pooping monster for Halloween. . . while getting a diaper change on our new couch. 'Nuff said about that one.

(5) MY child did not tell me that "[Mommy's] hiney is broken." That just wouldn't be applicable at all -- I just had a baby. Of COURSE, my hiney is in PERFECT shape. You could "bounce a quarter off of it." as the saying goes. . . . or not. :(

(6) MY child did not decide to become very, very quiet . . . sneak into the downstairs bathroom . . . pick up the plunger . . . and "stir the water." No, my Little Lady would never do something like that, and she wouldn't decide to wash the walls with that same water. Surely, she is smart enough to know that is just plain GROSS.

(7) MY child did not realize that Mommy is a little incapacitated while nursing, and (therefore) nursing time is the PERFECT time to do everything she has ever wanted to do . . . such as color on walls and stir toilet water. No, my child would not be so sneaky as to try that theory.

Thousand Words Thursday

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 19:12:00 +0000

Sometimes the Pumpkin Patch isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Semi Wordless Wednesday

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 02:46:00 +0000

It's Fall in Houston.

Blah. Temps are still fluctuating between the upper 80s and lower 90s. THE 80S AND 90S!!!! Seriously? Each morning, I log into Facebook, listening to our local weather man cheerfully proclaim the morning temp (usually around 80) and the humidity level (usually around 80!). The rest of the Facebook world, according to their status updates, is basking in crisp temps of 60s . . . or turning on their heaters . . . or getting to wear their favorite warm weather clothing.

Not us. As you can see from the Little Lady's attire, we're still in tank tops, shorts, and flip flops. IN OCTOBER!

I'm not a summer girl; of all the seasons, it is definitely my least favorite. Lucky me, I get to live in a perpetual state of summer thanks to semi-tropical Houston. So. Much. Fun.

I miss my days of fall in Northeast Oklahoma, where the foothills of the Ozarks begin turning into swirling mounds of red, gold, deep browns. During football games, you can spend your time huddled next to a loved one, a blanket over your lap, with a mug of hot chocolate in your hand . . . not panting, sweating, and waving a fan in front of your face like here.

The only good aspect of hot Houston is that the Little Lady can still go out, chalk in hand, and play in the sun. We aren't housebound because of freezing temps or cold winds. We still can enjoy an afternoon, creating our own swirls of color on the sidewalk.

For More Semi-Wordless Wednesday, visit:

My New Accessory

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 12:00:00 +0000

Is he a necklace? A scarf? A Belt?

I haven't decided yet, but Baby Brother has definitely become a part of my everyday attire.

Out of necessity, I might add.

I have, what you might call, a"high-maintenance" little dude. As I've mentioned before, he ONLY wants to be held. All day long. I can't blame him -- if I had someone big enough to hold me all day, I'd be demanding such attention too!

The swing? Well, he sleeps in it -- begrudgingly, I might add, but he will NOT allow himself just to "chill" in it. Nope. If he's awake, he wants to be in Mama's arms. (again, not that I blame him. I smell good and my skin is soft. I'd hold me!)

The only problem is that I have, what you might call, a "high-maintenance" little lady.

That's right: the Little Lady also wants Mama's attention, arms, and lap. Since I'm not the most coordinated of people, it's difficult for me to juggle both of them or chase the Little Lady around while trying to snuggle with the Baby Brother.

And, holding Baby Brother all day long just isn't fair to my Little Lady. I know he's a newborn and that he needs me, but so does his sister. I want to be able to play with her, walk around the house, go outside, and everything else she wants to do during the day. And, I don't want to be limited to his nap-times to indulge her.

This mama wants to be able to give both of her kids her attention . . .at the same time. I don't enjoy making one wait while I try to appease, feed, or nurture the other. I hate the sound of one of them crying because I'm in the middle of taking care of the other.

So . . . all of that to justify my new accessory. (ha)

I didn't realize it would be so difficult becoming a mommy of two. I love both of them and love being their mommy, but I'm still trying to learn how to balance my time and attention between my five week old boy and my two year old girl. And, I suppose, they're also trying to learn how this new relationship is going to work.

Hopefully, we'll figure it out soon.

FYI: the carrier is a Baby K'tan carrier. Very comfortable and easy to use!

It's Amazing What A Little Sleep Will Do

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 19:16:00 +0000

Last night, the Baby Brother gave me a mini-vacation.

(I love him!)

For the past week, he's been demanding to eat every hour and a half -- it's not too bad during the day, but it's torture at night. There were several nights where I slept a mere 30 minutes before he was waking for another feed. Oy vey. NOT FUN!

Last night, however, he slept 4 and half hours IN A ROW! Happy, happy, joy, joy!

Do you have any idea what I can DO with that much sleep? Well, for one thing, I'm a little less overwhelmed and "gripey." Woo hoo for everyone who has to be around me! Hmmm, wait a minute. I think I just realized why Hubby suggested the kids be dalmatian puppies for Halloween . . . and I be CRUELLA DEVILE! (And I thought he was just being cute. Hmph!)

Anyway, I was able to clean the entire downstairs during our afternoon nap time today. Normally, I am C-R-A-S-H-I-N-G during nap time. I'm talking passed out on the couch, snoring louder than my Grandpa, completely oblivious to everything.

I am not ashamed -- I probably should be, but I am NOT!

But, today, I cleaned, swept, sorted laundry, and dusted.

I was a cleaning fool. A frenzy of productivity.

I flat out ROCKED!

I even put together a week of activities for the Little Lady -- oh yes, I had the energy to get us back in gear for "Tot School." (We're making ladybugs this afternoon, in case you're interested!)

Swoon. I "big puffy heart" sleep.

It's officially my best friend.

Daydreaming

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 02 Oct 2009 17:59:00 +0000

Soup in the slow-cooker. Dishes in the sink. Mail and diaper bags on the kitchen table. Wooden blocks and baby doll clothes on the floor of each room.

Is this what having two kids is like?

Every day, I feel as though I'm fighting a losing battle, trying to maintain the chaos of my home. I would love, love, love to look up from a diaper change or a nursing session and find my entire house spotless. Dishes washed and put away. Counters sparkling. Floor swept and mopped. Everything wooden dusted and smelling of orange oil.

Where are the little elves from the fairy tales my grandmother read? Where are those little guys that would come in at night and help out the needy with their tasks? I think I qualify as needy when it comes to my house . . .at least right now.
I am the type of person that needs peace and order to maintain my sanity. For the past month, I have felt the stress of a newborn, the stress of a high-maintenance toddler, the stress of making food for everyone, the stress of worrying if my body is producing enough sustenance for the baby, and then the crazy stress of an unkempt house. UGH!

During naps, I try and get things in order -- always listening and watching for the grunts and squirms that tell me my little buddy is about to wake up. Sometimes, I can actually get the entire kitchen clean. Sometimes, a load of laundry is folded. And, sometimes, all I get accomplished is throwing out the dirty diapers that have been changed that day.

I need a clean house. I need things orderly. I need a schedule. I need everything to look "pretty" in my life. Maybe if all of those things fell into place, the knots in my shoulders and back would ease and I wouldn't sigh so much during the day.

Or, I could just take advantage of the massage package my husband purchased for me. I'm sure that would take care of the knots and sighs.

Then . . . maybe . . . while I was out enjoying the strong, therapeutic hands of a Swedish man named Hans (sorry, that's the only semi-Swedish name I know!), those little elves would whip my house into a beautiful state of order and cleanliness.

And I would start out next week a new woman. A calmer woman. A woman who was the mistress of her domain.

At least until the Little Lady decided that she needed to use ALL of the wipes, the tube of desitin, and my lanolin cream to change her baby-doll's diapers. That's always fun and that's what she is doing right now.
Gotta go!

A New Month -- New Post?

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 14:52:00 +0000

For two (possibly more) weeks, I've been trying to find both time to write and topics to write about. Yeah, as you can tell by the date of my last post (Sept. 17th), I've been so very successful in this endeavor.

I tried writing about my first outing out with the baby . . . and how my sleep deprived self didn't care that I was wearing the previous day's clothes, with a dash of baby boy pee and mommy's milk for added flair. (Yes, sadly, this is true)

I tried writing about the reappearance of my feet and ankles -- old friends that had disappeared during my pregnancy under a deluge of retained water. Seriously, my husband and I looked at them in awe for nearly a week, shocked at how skinny my feet really are. It's WONDERFUL to be able to wear real shoes again. Ahhhh. . .I missed all of my fun shoes!

(just for kicks -- before and after pics)

I thought about writing about my new fascination with the show, "Hoarders." OH, MY GOSH! If you haven't seen that show, you need to watch at least one episode. It's one of those where you hate watching, but you just can't change the channel.

It's also one of those shows that makes you want to purge everything from your house. . . and scrub your house from top to bottom . . . and take a hot shower using antibacterial soap. (Fun times)

But, as fun as all of those imaginary posts would be, I decided sleep was a better option to spending time writing. Sleep, Glorious Sleep. There's not much of that happening around here, resulting in Hubby forgetting the names of people he sees every day . . . and this mama making RIDICULOUS grammar mistakes in her speech and Facebook updates. I'm talking REALLY RIDICULOUS mistakes -- like basic subject/verb agreement errors and misspelled words. YIKES!

Yeah, sleep is definitely winning out over blogging, cleaning my house, laundry, showers, cooking, and making sure there isn't little boy urine all over me.

On that note, I'm tired . . . G'night.

(um, yeah, it's not even 10:30 am and I said G'night. Your point????????)

But, before I go, let me share a cute (albeit blurry) picture of my adorable Little Lady. She hit a major milestone this week: she learned how to pose!!!

Out of the Mouths of Babes

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 03:58:00 +0000

The Little Lady is at an age where she is VERY observant. Nothing going on around here escapes her . . . including the fact that Mommy is breast-feeding.

Oy vey.

It started innocently enough with the question "What's he doing," as she came up and peered over my arms, getting within millimeters of her brother nursing.

When I tried using my nursing cover, she had to be included. The Little Lady felt there was room enough for all three of us underneath the brown polka dot fabric, raising the cover "past the point of no return" and thrusting her head in. "I wanna see! I wanna see" has become her mantra during breastfeeding sessions.

THEN, curiosity got the best of her yesterday. "I wanna taste, Mommy. I have this one?" pointing to the vacant breast. Sigh, sigh, sigh.

Today, we had a little bit of a "Glee" moment as the Little Lady broke into a little musical number about breastfeeding. A bit of a sacrilegious musical number.

In an effort to up my supply, I have started pumping after Baby Brudder nurses. And, yes, it does remind me a bit of my childhood and the mornings spent helping my dad milk cows, but that isn't the point of this post.

As I sat, a bit vulnerably exposed, incapacitated, and at the mercy of the double pump, the Little Lady pulled up a chair and climbed up, questions running across her face.

"Whatcha doin'," she asked, voice squeaking.

"Mommy is pumping to get milk for baby brother."

"Mommy pooping?"

"PUMPING. PUMPING."

"Mommy pooping?"

(sigh)

She moved in closer, peering into the bottle collecting the milk. "What's dat?"

"Mommy's milk," I replied.

The Little Lady turned her attention to my face, turning her head in a quizzical fashion. "From Mommy's boobies?"

"Yes," I agreed. "From Mommy's boobies."

At this point, she began to climb off the chair, singing as she went down. This girl LOVES to sing and engages in various melodies all day long. Her special talent, which she utilized at this particular moment, is taking any known song and changing the words to fit the moment (which, incidentally, is how "The Wheels On The Bus" became a song about changing dirty diapers).

For this situation, as she climbed down, she burst out with the tune from "Jesus Loves Me."

"From Mommy's boobies . . . Mommy's boobies . . . for da Bible teylls me soooooo."

I'm not sure if this particular Biblical tidbit is from the Old or New Testament. And, I'm PRAYING this isn't a song version that she decides to break out during Sunday School.

Havin' A Swingin' Good Time

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Mon, 14 Sep 2009 22:34:00 +0000

I made a discovery today -- baby swings are AWESOME!

Prior to today, our little guy had one desire in life: to be held all day long!! Of course with the myriad of relatives staying with us, he didn't have a chance to learn to like anything else.

Nope -- all day long, he wants nothing more than to be snuggled up on someone. At first, this wasn't a problem; after nine months, I was more than willing to give in to him. But, after a few days of constant holding, I realized I was limited . . . VERY limited in what activities I could enjoy. There wasn't much snacking, playing with the Little Lady, or any other necessary task being completed.

Today was different and completely wonderful. After holding my little guy during feedings and a few "comfort sessions," he would visit his cute little aquarium themed swing. He LOVED it, sleeping contentedly for close to two hours at a time. Beautiful.

I was able to do all kinds of fun things this afternoon: go to the bathroom whenever I wanted (woo hoo!), hold beverages and snacks with my right hand (instead of trying to use my awkward left hand, neck, and chest to balance everything), hold the Little Lady and read her a few of her favorite books . . . oh, yeah, and I was able to play on the computer (see below for my creation).

I love you, Mr. (or Ms.) Baby Swing Creator!!!! You rock.

Did I Mention I Had a Baby?

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 17:01:00 +0000

Subtitle #1: "WHY WASN'T I GIVEN A 'HOT DOC' WARNING?"

Subtitle #2: "The Longest Post I've Ever Written"

That Tuesday (August 25th) started as every other day in August-- I was still big and pregnant. Very big. Very pregnant.

39 weeks exactly. Only one week left of dealing with swollen feet, an aching back, and horrendous heartburn. That's what I kept telling myself -- "Just one more week. One more week. One more week."

My mom and sisters were determined to be as helpful as they could; they offered to cook and clean . . . and offered every labor inducing tip they had ever heard.

I decided to try one of the tips: walking. That hot Houston afternoon, we spent HOURS and HOURS walking in our area mall. Oy, ve! That excursion became more and more painful with each step, and the baby felt heavier and heavier. I secretly hoped that the pain and heaviness meant progress, but I didn't expect anything to really happen. After all, for weeks, my doctor's appointments had been just the same: 1 cm dilated. No more -- no less. (sigh)

When we returned home, my youngest sister decided that it was time for a maternity photo shoot, "just in case" I went into labor. "Whatever," I thought. I hate having my picture taken and I KNEW that taking a few awkwardly pregnant photos was NOT going to make me go into labor. But, I humored her and (not so graciously) allowed her to take a few shots.

Whether it was the walking, the food I consumed that day, or the photo shoot (or the little bit of castor oil that "someone" may have tried taking) I'll never know for sure. But, that night, I went into labor.

The contractions began around 11 pm but I (stupid, naive me) didn't recognize them as being real contractions. I assumed my digestive system just didn't appreciate the spicy, rich meal I had eaten for dinner. Then I realized that these "stomach pains" were coming every two minutes and lasting about 45 seconds. Hmmmmmmmmmm. . .

Waiting to see if they would dissipate, I held off on going to the hospital until around 1:30 am. I had watched multiple episodes of "A Baby Story" and all of the Discovery Channels maternity shows (including the television version of "Pregnancy for Dummies"). I KNEW that first time moms had a higher chance of false labor. I did NOT intend on being the "dumb, anxious mom" who showed up at the hospital, only to be sent back home.

The other adults staying at my house thought otherwise. When I reached the point of crying and writhing with each contraction, my mom, sister, and Hubby convinced me that it was time to go. At that point, the contractions were coming about every minute and were EXCRUCIATING! I say "bull" to the preparation material I read that said contractions are mildly uncomfortable. BULL! Those suckers were absolutely ridiculous.

My hospital is, thankfully, within five minutes of my home. Not that such a short distance mattered during the wee hours of the morning. It turns out that all of the main entrances are locked and barred at 2 am. Yep -- every conveniently placed door was a "no go." So, Hubby and I walked and walked and walked. Well, HE walked. I don't know what you would call the movements I was displaying. Hobbling? Stumbling? Limping? By the time we reached a working entrance, I was beside myself at that point, crying and cussing without regard for who saw or heard me.

Once I filled out my admission paperwork (which, by the way, it is seriously cruel and unusual punishment to make a woman stand and fill out paperwork while she's having contractions), I was hooked up to the monitors and my nurse confirmed that I was having real contractions. REAL CONTRACTIONS. Could it really be so? Was I going to be allowed to stay at the hospital? Thirty minutes later, the nurse checked again and, in a matter of fact voice, announced I was 4 cm dilated and good to stay for delivery.

At that point, I was given my epidural. THANK GOD for the person who invented this. Oh, my gosh! I don't know how you natural labor mamas do it --- I could NOT! I had no idea that my pain threshold was so low until that night. (and, I felt like an idiot that I couldn't hold it together during a contraction-- just like those silly women on the "baby" shows. Sigh)

Once it was in, I didn't feel a thing; my husband was equally impressed with the miraculous epidural. I went from a crying lunatic to a sane, joking woman who didn't notice when she was having a contraction.

Yeah -- good times and (VERY) good drugs.

Around an hour post epidural, I was checked again. This time, I was dilated between 6-7 cm and my waters were "bulging," as they say. The nurse called my doctor, and a deal was brokered. IF my waters didn't break before 6 am, I would receive pitocin and my doctor would break my waters when she arrived. I was glad to hear that news but slightly distracted by the intense itching that was taking place all over my skin (thanks to the epidural). Now, why wasn't this information included in all of the "getting ready for labor" websites? It would have been good to know that the epidural was going to make me feel like a dog with the world's worst case of fleas! I was not prepared for the itching!!!! SO ANNOYING!

It was sometime after the epidural that the nurse noticed the baby's heart-rate was decelerating because of the constant contractions. I was given an oxygen mask and some type of medicine to slow down my contractions. Those two things worked and his heart settled back into a nice, normal rhythm.

(And, yes, I begrudgingly allowed Hubby to take a picture of at this point. And, yes, I regret it now that I've seen the picture)

Anyway, by 6 am, my waters hadn't broken, so out came the pitocin and, when I had reached a full 10, my doctor broke the fluids and discovered that my little ornery boy had decided to move into a face up position. Lovely.

The baby had to turn over before any pushing could commence. So, I was poked, prodded, and rotated back and forth . . . which worked. He turned over and it was "go time."

Out came the stirrups.

I sooooooooooooo wanted to laugh at myself at this point --- I know that the sight of me, with my feet in stirrups & hands behind thighs, was NOT a pretty picture. Days earlier, I'd been mortified at the though of a natural delivery, because of this very scenario. Again, thanks to all of the delivery shows, I knew how exposed I would be. EMBARRASSING!!! But, when it came down to it, I didn't care. I was ready to be done!

Pushing wasn't hard -- well, not really hard. I'll admit that it was a bit difficult to focus in on one area since I couldn't feel anything . . . or differentiate between my hoo-ha and hiney. But, I pushed anyway.

And, I pushed.

And, I pushed.

After an hour, my doctor and nurse could finally see some of the baby's head, but his heart rate was now accelerating more than what my doctor was comfortable with. She decided that a c-section was the way to go because of the climbing heart rate (which was in the 180s at that point). No more embarrassing stirrups for this mama.

I was prepped and taken to the OR. A new anesthesiologist (with a HOT, sexy Australian accent) gave me a new epidural. Too bad I wasn't able to keep it together in front of THIS doctor. This epidural was placed higher than my 1st one, leaving me with the feeling that I could NOT breathe. The sensation of "not breathing" and my claustrophobia was not a good combination. I started having a panic attack, crying and clawing at an oxygen mask that seemed to be cemented to my face.

Yeah -- full blown, crazy woman panic attack in front of the Hot Doc. Nice. Again -- why aren't there warnings about this? Maybe, just maybe, if I'd KNOWN that I'd feel as though I couldn't breathe, I could have held it together . . . stayed cool, calm, and collected in front of Hot Doc.

Hot Doc tried to convince me that I was, indeed, breathing normally. Under any other circumstances, I would have loved hearing such a voice talking directly to me. But, this time, I just went crazy, leaving my poor Hot Doc with no choice but to give me a sedative.

And that's the last moment I remember. Hubby claims I was awake for the surgery, but I don't remember anything. I thought I was asleep. Regardless, I remember nothing about my baby boy's birth, first cry, etc. I sort of -- kind of -- remember Hubby bringing the baby over to me, but that's about it.

After an hour in recovery, teeth chattering uncontrollably from the anesthesia, I was taken to my room, where I was able to see my family and finally met my sweet guy.

The Little Lady wasn't too sure about "Bebee Brudder" at first; she would say "hi" and kiss him, but she didn't want to be left near him. By the time we came home, it was a completely different story. She was giddy with excitement over him, giving him kiss after kiss and asking to "pet Bebee Brudder." The first time she "held" him was absolutely adorable -- she was sooooo proud of herself! Each time he cries (which happens during each diaper change -- I seem to have given birth to the only man who hates being naked), the Little Lady rushes over to sing him a lullaby.

And now, let me officially introduce Benjamin Cade (AKA "Bebee Brudder" or "Cade").

STATS:
Born - August 26th
Weight - 8 lbs, 9 oz.
Height - 20 & 1/2 inches long
Head - 14 inches
Blog Nickname - To Be Determined!

Prettier By The Day

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 07:23:00 +0000

I don't know if baby boys enjoy the description "pretty," but I think it fits our lil' boy just fine!

Here's a more "recent" (ha - I guess one can use the term recent when talking about a two-day old) picture of his sweet face.

I'll post his birth-story soon. I promise it's chock-full of drama, suspense, and embarrassing (oh-- soooooooo embarrassing) moments . . . just like the rest of my life!

And, no, your eyes aren't deceiving you. Following In My Shoes is currently under renovation (as I try and decide what I want the new look to be)!!!!

He's HERE!

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 12:44:00 +0000

Arriving at 2:08pm, August 26, 2009, the Lil' Gentleman weighed in at a healthy 8lbs 9oz. He was 20 1/2inches long. Both baby and mom are doing well.

I will leave the rest of the story to Rachel. once she recovers a bit from the C-section.
~Hubby

Guiltily Impatient

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 03:05:00 +0000

One week left till my due date.

I wish that actually meant something, but I'm learning that it doesn't. Especially for me -- a "first timer." The due date is just an approximation . . . a guess . . . a day that can come and go without a baby.

The closer I get to September 1st, the more anxious and worried I am that I will end up going PAST that day. This is not good news to me. I'm ready to be D.O.N.E.

It's silly really -- this overwhelming desire to give birth NOW. I haven't had a difficult pregnancy -- there was no morning sickness, no threat of pre-term labor, no scary test results. Aside from the heartburn and grotesquely swollen feet, it's been an ideal pregnancy.

But, I find myself ready, MORE than ready, to have our baby boy. I'm tired of feeling like a stiff board has been stuffed into my abdomen, making any movement next to impossible. I'm tired of not sleeping at night -- thanks to a mixture of insomnia and the fact that every possible sleeping position is the very definition of "uncomfortable."

Oh, yeah, and I'm tired of the Little Lady knowing that she can outrun me. This is NOT good info for a toddler to possess -- especially a toddler who is going through a "I-can-do-whatever-I-want-and-I-don't-care-what-you-say" phase. The Little Lady deliberately disobeys these days, knowing that she only has to run faster than me. Talk about wearing a mama OUT!

But, there is, mixed in with all of this anxiety to give birth soon, an overwhelming sense of guilt. Why am I so anxious to see the end of this miraculous adventure, when I spent YEARS struggling with and depressed over my infertility?

Why?

WHY am I not relishing these last few days of movements and kicks -- precious, private moments that may never come my way again? Moments that, forever and a day, I longed to experience. Moments that I envied of the Little Lady's birth mother when she was expecting our sweet girl.

I feel ashamed when I think about my impatience, when I hear myself voicing my thoughts -- "I just want this kid OUT of me!" I have been given two unbelievable, amazing gifts -- motherhood through adoption and motherhood through pregnancy. Both equally miraculous. But, I find myself taking this journey for granted and wishing it over.

Sigh.

5 Words A Mommy NEVER Wants To Hear

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Tue, 11 Aug 2009 22:41:00 +0000

"Der's POOP on my pingers!"

Yes, my friends, THAT was the sentence I heard as I walked into the Little Lady's room after her morning nap.

And, yes, my friends, there really was POOP on her fingers.

Well, it wasn't really an issue of poop ON her fingers. Once examined, I realized the issue revolved around poop IN her fingernails and IN her cuticles. Just a wee smidgen was actually on her chubby digits.

Sigh, sigh, sigh, sigh, sigh.

For nearly 26 months, we've managed to avoid such a fiasco. She hasn't been the child to randomly remove her diaper. She's never played or painted with feces. I've heard from other moms -- their horror stories of babies and toddlers experimenting with digested waste. And, I'll admit it, I chuckled at their stories. After all, it wasn't ME having to deal with all of that! MY KID had no interest in her poop. I was safe.

Irony got me back today. (grumble, grumble, grumble)

WHY did she do this? Seriously -- what makes a kid decide to fish out a bit of THAT stuff? Everything about it is gross (as she cheerfully told me when I began to scour her little fingers).

I guess she was bored after her long nap. Her toys, tea sets, and dolls held no interest or fascination today. There was nothing else to do but experiment with texture.

For her sake and mine, I hope this doesn't become a new habit. My hormones can't take a daily poop cleaning. Not of the "hand" variety, anyway.

Today's Post Is Brought To You By The Letter "H"

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Mon, 10 Aug 2009 17:17:00 +0000

The Little Sisters (That Girl and Sarah Sue) came for a visit and a baby shower this past week. Since we hadn't seen one another since May, they were eager to see my big ol' belly, watch it move, and go with me to my latest growth scan. Oh, and by the way, at 36 weeks, this lil' guy is already estimated to be over 7 pounds. HOLY COW! This information does NOT help my delivery fears.

But, the baby and my belly aren't the only things growing. Sigh.

Before I begin, let me share a wee bit of info about me: I have BIG FEET. Really, really big feet. In the 5th grade, and with a 7 1/2 adult sized foot, I was able to wear my mother's shoes. My big boats finally stopped growing around 8th grade, leaving me with a 10 & 1/2 shoe size.

I started this pregnancy with narrow, skinny, long, 10 & 1/2 sized feet.

I have no idea what size these suckers are now . . . but I do know that my husband's Old Navy flip-flops (officially a man's size 11) are too tight. But do I care? No, I wear them everywhere and take them off everywhere. Like yesterday -- in church. I sat there, unabashedly without my shoes -- fat, swollen, tight feet splayed out in the aisle. So what if the Little Lady tripped over my discarded flip-flops. Mama was (somewhat) comfortable.

I've officially reached the point of not caring. You don't like my swollen feet? Don't look at them . . .and I won't look at you. Sounds like a good deal to me.
(Oh, and this picture? Yeah, this is NOT the worst of the swelling. This is an example of my foot on a good day!)

Even though they hurt, are stiff, and my toes periodically become numb and tingly, my feet really do crack me up! Really, they do!

Why?

My feet have turned into human play-dough.

Yeah. I said play-dough.

It was Hubby who first discovered this neat little parlor trick while, out of pity, he was massaging my feet (which, incidentally, is the BEST part of this whole scenario -- daily foot rubs. I LOVE IT!) . As he rubbed my foot, he suddenly stopped with a loud "LOOK AT THIS!"

I looked and realized that I have pitting edema. My feet can be contorted into any shape. . . which is all my husband needed for easy and cheap entertainment.

And, apparently, it's all my 21-year old sister needs for a quick laugh too.

It didn't take long for Hannah and Sarah to notice my big feet. Their "grossed-out" emotions quickly turned to amazement when I pushed against the skin and showed the results.

It was at that moment, a game was born: the "What Shape Can They Take On Now" game.

Hannah won the prize for creativity, utilizing one of The Little Lady's alphabet blocks to imprint her initial right across the top of my foot. With a light touch, she gently pressed the block against my skin. It didn't take long for her artistic endeavor to pay off. She removed the block and showed off her perfect "H."

Her pride and joy were instantaneous.

Glad I could entertain you, Hannah, for at least one night of your visit.

Now . . . any tips for relief? Anyone? Anyone?

It's Official

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 16:12:00 +0000

I'm officially intimidated.

This is the comparison information I was given today upon reaching the 9 month pregnancy milestone:

Ummmmmmmm . . . .

Ow? Wow? Holy Cow?

I don't know what to say, but, suddenly, watermelon is no longer on my grocery list.

PSF -- Correcting My Summer Mistake

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Fri, 31 Jul 2009 00:17:00 +0000

Mommy is an idiot, especially given the fact that Mommy, in a former life, was an English teacher.

Sigh.

(1) All summer long, the Little Lady and I have been cooped up in the house. No play-dates, no outings other than OB appointments, and no swimming pool events (thanks to the Little Lady's surgery).

(2) Prior to the adventure described in this post, I did not have a library card.

(3) I didn't know that library cards are FREE!! (Seriously. Me = Idiot)

(4) I did NOT realize that the Little Lady could have been participating in the Library's Summer Reading program for toddlers. Other people reading to her, entertaining her . . . twice a week. Every week. ALL. SUMMER. LONG.

(5) The Summer Reading Program ended LAST Tuesday. . . the day before I found out about the wonders of the local library.

Yeah -- Mommy was an idiot this summer.

But, there's always the "next time," and that time starts August 17th. That's right. I only have to wait. . . um, I mean . . . the LITTLE LADY only has to wait a few more weeks till "Toddler Story Time" begins at our library. It's only once a week, but it's at least one outing a week that I can plan for . . . look forward to . . . and be excited about. (how about all of those prepositions. Woo hoo.)

I'm sure the Little Lady will enjoy it too. She certainly loved our first library trip this past Saturday. WOW, did she love it. The books were exciting, the toddler computer was the best toy ever, and the padded story-circle was the best thing to fall into EVER.

She even got her own library card, which she loved "showing off" for this picture.

This little book, which I don't even think was written in English, was her favorite.

And, I can't fail to show off my big girl at the computer. She was INSULTED each time we tried to help her. "No, no, Daddy! No, no, Mommy!" Yeah, the independent stage has definitely started.

Then, like the big girl that she is, she got to chat with the Librarian and check out her very own books with her very own "liber-berry" card.

The Little Lady and I are both VERY ready to head back.

Photo Story Friday:

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Proof of Progress

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 19:29:00 +0000

Remember the last time that I ~~griped~~ talked about the baby's room? I was ~~frustrated~~ concerned by the fact that we had not finished converting our office into Baby Boy's bedroom. I had emptied the closet, the drawers, the filing cabinet but needed help from The Hubby to finish.

Here's a glimpse back . . . .

Yeah -- definitely NOT pretty!

I ended up packing everything and moving all of the boxes myself. A rush of nesting adrenaline propelled me forward . . . but it was gone once I was finished. WOW! If you follow me on Facebook, that was one of those days when I complained about feeling as though I had been run over by a truck.

Despite the back pain, the room was ready for nearly ready for painting. Hubby added his own energy to the preparations by moving the filing cabinet, desk, computer, etc., to our guest room. Then, my ever so gracious father-in-law gave up part of his vacation to paint the room for me!!! WOO HOO!

While it isn't completely finished, we certainly can claim progress has occurred. I haven't been able to paint the furniture, yet; I guess that will have to wait until after the baby comes (Hubby HATES and refuses to paint). And, as you'll see, all of the decorations need to be finalized and put in their proper place, and I need to organize all of the baby supplies.

BUT . . . it is so much closer!!!!!

Woo hoo, I say. WOO HOO!

Close-ups of the bedding

Close-ups of the prints (still need to be opened and framed) and other deco

Thank you, NRA, for the Dress Up Clothes

rachel_e_lacy@yahoo.com (Rachel) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 12:15:00 +0000

I didn't grow up around my guns. As a child, my father (a farmer at that time) had one .22 . . . um, is "shotgun" the correct term? Or, is it a rifle?

Either way, he had ONE firearm; he kept it behind the seat of his farm-truck, ready for any emergency out in some lonely pasture. You know -- 'cause cows and prairie dogs are soooo fierce.

Dad wasn't a "gun guy." He didn't even hunt, even though everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) in our family did.

So, guns are rather foreign to me and seem, well, a bit unnecessary.

That statement is (most decidedly) NOT true for my husband and his family.

Guns. Guns. Guns.

Yeah, my husband's family enjoys the relationship they have with their guns.

(they do keep the guns appropriately locked in cabinets and the ammunition is kept in a separate locked cabinet; woo hoo for that)

Here in our house, I believe the Hubby has three guns. Why? I DO NOT KNOW! He doesn't really hunt; if . . . IF he goes hunting, it's only for the excuse of firing his gun. In five years of marriage and 5-6 hunting adventures, he has yet to actually bring back anything. He just likes to fire a gun.

With the exception of my father (who is now a United Methodist minister), I guess it's a guy-thing to like and desire guns. Hubby recently bought a hand-gun . . . just because. Actually, I think he purchased it because his buddy, his "boyfriend," purchased one. They go on man-dates to the rifle range -- just to feel manly and fire off rounds from their new toys.

Sigh.

And, because of that purchase, the Little Lady has added an interesting item to her dress-up collection.

It came in the mail -- innocently encased in a slightly battered manila envelope -- the bulky, mysterious shape within pushing against the paper wrapper.

Hubby had looked at me a bit accusingly, silently asking what I'd purchased from Ebay or Etsy this time.

"It's not mine," I said in reply to his unasked question.

Turns out, it was his. His "prize" for buying a new gun and for attending a local gun show.

The NRA, of which my husband is not a member, sent my husband a hat, which the Little Lady promptly claimed as HERS.

Oy ve - she really is her father's child.