We have decided to not be foster parents...please don't judge

Getting a Foster Parent license is hard, and not hard enough. The training really tries to prepare you for the real-life challenge of welcoming in another family's disfunction into your home. No amount of preparation would be adequate. You battle the system, you battle the judgement, you battle the placements' baggage, and you battle yourself: be more patient, give more, care more, BE MORE. In the end, it's never enough.

And Jerry and I decided that the turmoil and instability that fostering gave our family was not fair to our kids. Our incredibly lucky and spoiled rotten kids deserve our undivided attention.

We will find other ways to give to the cause of saving our community's children. I donated all the equipment I had: a crib, two pack-and-plays, years worth of clothes, toddler plates and cups, small flatware...we gave it all to those who could give more.

Sweet

I remember when Grace first came home from the hospital. Jerry was so worried about handling her. The first time I left him in charge was so I could shower. When I came out, he was walking her around the house whistling "The Star Spangled Banner." He said it was the only song he could think of....

We Have Decided to Become Foster Parents

     It was not an easy decision to make. We have two great kids. They are a handful. Seriously. If you know me or have followed this blog, you are probably questioning either our sanity or our ability as parents--possibly both.  That is fine. Jerry and I questioned the same things. Here are some answers to the most common questions we get.

What do you have to do to get a kid?

No, is not an easy process to complete, nor should it be. You are signing up to take care of someone else's kids as though they are your own. Even though some of the kids' biological parents are questionable (um, hello? The kids are in Foster Care...it's a fair statement), all kids deserve a safe and loving home. So, we've gone through an initial screening (they say its to check for space and safety; I think it's to rule out the crazies...we made it through anyway). We had to fill out 12-page questionnaires detailing our childhoods, educational experience, child rearing philosophies, state of our marriage, and career situations. Truthfully, they ask about EVERYTHING. How do we tell our kids when we're sad? Seriously? We say, "Hey kids, we're sad."

We had to take 10 hours of training. They call it PRIDE class. I'm sure it's an acronym I can't remember. It was incredibly long and incredibly not long enough. What would be really useful would be a psychology degree, a behavioral therapy certification, early education training, and some very basic medical training. There is SO MUCH to know and for which to prepare. When you have your own kids, the learning curve is pretty slow. If something is going on with your kid, you learn about it. You observe it, report it, research it, treat it, whatever. It's very learn-as-you-go. With foster kids, it seems like it's going to be a lot of guess work. You never know what you're going to get, and you may find you need to deal with something RIGHT NOW. No learning curve. Do something. DO SOMETHING!!!! So, anyway, yes, the classes are long, but I'm not complaining.

We are in the middle of a home study. You invite your agency into your home to examine every tiny detail of your life. I was suddenly very aware that our furniture was shabby. When did that happen? How can anyone expect me to take care of a baby if I can't take care of a couch! Oh wait...I HAVE kids. That's WHY the furniture is shabby. Right.

Why don't you just have another one? You still can, right?

This one is my favorite. Yes, we could have another baby. Our two kids are healthy, and I had pretty easy pregnancies. That does not mean we're ready to do it again. Child growing and birthing is insanely stressful. There are thousands of unknowns and risks for loss... why push our luck? We were blessed with two beautiful and healthy kids. We appreciate what we've got!

But somehow, we feel like our family is not quite done, and there are kids out there who need a safe place to live. As a matter of fact, there are more than 6000 kids in foster care in Florida alone. And our place is pretty safe. It's Wes proof, so....we're probably good.

You're just going to give the kids back?

If their parents follow their plan, and work out their issues, then we will have been part of reuniting a family. I'm not trying to pretend it won't be awful, but won't it also be a little great? We had a hard time with this, too, when we first started examining our decision. But then we learned that an incredibly high percentage of children who are entering the system today are children of parents who, themselves, have aged out of the foster care system. Those parents have no idea what a functional and healthy family looks like. I may not either, for that matter, but what we have works for us, and we'll share with the willing. 

IF, on the other hand, a child in our care becomes available for adoption, then we will adopt!

Aren't you scared the foster kids will hurt your kids?

Have you ever met our kids? No. They'll be fine. Also, we're only fostering kids younger than ours. 

The Second Call I Never Wanted to Make

You know how parents describe the moment a child wanders off by saying "I turned around and he/she was gone"? They say that because it really does describe the instant it takes for a kid to haul butt. Especially if the kid is Wesley.

It was a great Sunday afternoon. We were all playing outside; the weather was awesome. The kids had just finished taking turns rolling down the hill in an old plastic wagon, and it was time to go inside for baths. I walked to the trash barrel to throw away the debris created by two kids and a couple of popsicles. I turned around, and he was gone. GONE. I immediately circled the house and scanned the field next to our house. Jerry took the front of the house. No Wes. At that point, something inside me snapped. I just knew I wouldn't get divine intervention twice. I felt like I had wasted my second chance. Externally, I was calling 911 (again); internally, I was praying (again).

So, then, Jerry was in his truck, checking the canal side, then circling the neighborhood. At some point someone (me?) called neighbors down the street to walk in our direction to see if they could see Wes. I'm sketchy on the details.  Grace was inside. The dispatcher was counseling me to look under beds and in closets. My neighbors were all out looking. I was still on the phone with the 911 dispatcher and the dispatcher next to her got a call. Someone found a little blonde boy on Alabama Road. I must have asked 17 times if he was Ok. He was.

Five minutes later, a non-phased, happy little boy is delivered to my arms. "Mom!" he yells, "I rode in a police car!"

He reported he went for a run. I had been taking him with me on runs; he would follow behind on his John Deer PowerWheel. The cop suggested that was probably not a good idea. I concur.

A first (and hopefully a last...): I called 911

When Grace was six weeks old, she scratched herself in the eyeball, and we brought her to the emergency room. That is the end of emergency treatment for our daughter to date. The rest of her treatment from healthcare providers and emergency personnel is limited to run-of-the-mill ear infections and chicken pocks. She had the Flu once...

Wes is in an entirely different category. I have called the on-call nurse with questions about head injuries sustained while climbing. I have called poison control TWICE (once for some homeopathic thing I don't remember, and once for ingesting CAMPHOR that had been in the humidifier on the TOP of his dresser). Last Spring, we brought him to the ER for "labored breathing." A breathing treatment, two popsicles, and a chest x-ray later, we were $2000 in the hole. Whatever. Today, this boy reached a new level of mayhem.

I took Wes and Grace with two of my friend's kids to the water park in our community. Wes is turning 3 in 15 days. Grace is 4. The other boys are 5 and 7. The water park is fenced--one of those "Water Feature" things that has various ways to squirt kids in the face with water and give parents a break. I had just given the "5 minute warning" to all kids. I was talking to Grace, looked up and couldn't immediately spot Wes. This is how it went down.

Minute 1: Internal voice, "don't panic. He's in this fence. The place is fenced," while I stalk the interior of the water feature.

Minute 2: "he's not in here. Don't panic. He can't be far," while screaming at the other kids to STAY PUT, sprint out the gate and survey the landscape while chanting to myself "Orange shorts...look for orange shorts"

Minute 3: Internal voice: "Dear heavenly Father, please help me find my son." Dial 9-1-1. External Voice "I'm at Veteran's park near the water feature. My two-year-old son is gone. His name is Wesley. He has bright blond hair. He is wearing Orange swim trunks with no shirt. I haven't seen him in three minutes" while running toward the playground where he may have gone...

Minute 4: Plead with 9-1-1 operator to send someone quickly (she's assuring me several people are on the way)...

Minute 5: Blubber as coherently as possible to the nicest police officer I've ever met exactly what happened and that I have no idea how tall my son is but he weighs 40 pounds. Call Jerry and explain to him that Wesley got away from me, I have called 9-1-1, and police are searching the vicinity.

Minutes 6-five zillion: Wait at the water feature with the other 3 kids for whom I am responsible. External voice, "Dear God, I know I don't deserve any favors, but please, please, please, please, please, protect my sweet boy"...

Then kids were yelling "They found him!" and I was running. The police officer I met initially was carrying an incredibly happy Wesley, whom a good Samaritan helping search had found on a nearby baseball field playing in the sand. Wesley said to the police officer, "There she is! Mommy!" then to me, "Mom, I'm so, so dirty! Hey, did you hear the firetrucks?" I laughed. Those weren't firetrucks, buddy...they were police looking for you...

So, I guess I'll wait

Sometimes when I sit to write, the words just pour out of me. The ordinary event turns itself into a story. The details manifest themselves, and the plot and humor unfold. But not today.

My brain is full of the ordinary tasks of the weekend: the laundry, the dishes, the sweeping. It is not to say that I didn't enjoy myself. I took the kids to the water park. I enjoyed a gathering with friends. I watched a movie (readers with small children who don't go to bed appriciate this as a great feat). But I have no stories. So, I'll wait for one to come. I'm enjoying myself too much to go looking for one.

Smutty Summer Reading

Ok, I admit it. I am reading Fifty Shades of Grey. I have also covered the book in funky black and white covered contact paper, because I would DIE if I were seen in public with it. If I read parts of it outloud to my husband, HE would die. I don't like the main character...she's too....perfect. She's PERFECT. Anastasia Steele, no one is "too lanky." That's code for tall and thin. Seriously. If you want to create a character I can relate to, make her short and pudgy. Don't give her problems remembering to eat. Make her constantly struggling with at LEAST ten pounds (ok, ten pounds she'll admit to, ten more she won't).

So, why then, you may ask, am I reading it? In a nutshell, it's because I don't want to be left out! People everywhere are commenting on this book. It's a pop-cultural phenomenon. If I want to make sense of the non-sense, I have to read it, right? RIGHT?

Our Little Guy

I just wanted to take a post to brag on our little W. Last year at this time, we were working with Early Steps because his vocabulary was right around four words. He had chronic ear infections when he was tiny. When, at nine months, he had pretty much had an ear infection for 12 weeks straight, we made the decision to insert tubes in his ears. It made all the difference in the world, but we were warned that he missed out on a lot of hearing in those weeks.

After three months of intervention services in speech and occupational therapy (they had him lick food, move food around in his mouth, and make faces in a mirror), his speech exploded to more than 50 words. This school year, we were able to work with a fantastic preschool who really helped him work on his pronunciation and vocabulary. Now, at almost 3, I feel like his vocabulary is spot-on, but he might need some additional speech therapy. He is just a charming and handsome little guy. His new catch phrase is, "Hi mom, Guess what?" And he loves to wear his batman shirt with the cape. I call him Batman, and he calls me Princess. He loves to sing "Old McDonald" but his favorite animal is an elephant. He does a pretty good imitation.

Keeps getting better and better...

I am not a morning person. Never have been. I will be the first to admit that early AM punctuality presents a great challenge to me. Now, take into account that I have two little babies, one of whom is also not a morning person, and it is a wonder that we ever make it anywhere before noon. But even though it is regularly difficult to get our show on the road to make it to the sitters then to work by 7, this morning was ridiculous. I have to write about it. And yes, it's true; I couldn't make this stuff up.

The alarm goes off at 4:45 AM. (It used to go off at 4:30, but as I rarely got out of bed until 5 anyway, I bumped it up.) It wakes me and Wesley (who has somehow ended up in my bed, although he is only 6 months old, so he doesn't walk, and Jerry was at work all night, and I don't remember moving him although I am certain he went to sleep in his crib on the other side of the house). Wesley's eyelids are linked somehow to his stomach--he thinks if he's awake, he should be eating, so I feed him. And feed him. And feed him. This takes almost 30 minutes, and now I'm going to be late.

What happened next is somewhat of a blur. I know that I am washed and dressed, my lunch and bags were packed and put in the car, and that during this time, Grace was still asleep (How'd SHE get in my bed, too?). I had made coffee and laid out the kids' clothes. I dressed Wesley. He was exceptionally squirmy, so it took a little longer than normal. I put him on the floor and then went to get more toys to occupy him. I was in the process of distracting him with said toys when I noticed a smell. I picked him up and noticed a warm sort of ooze on my arm. Yep. We were both covered in poo. Nice. Two changes of clothes (mine and his) and he was happily playing on the floor.

Time to wake the Gracezilla. She was in a pretty good mood for the morning.

Me: Rise and shine.

Grace: OH! Good morning, Mommy. Good morning, Hesley. Peek-a-boo, Hesley! Peek-a-boo!

Me:OK, time to get dressed to go see Grandma.

Grace: NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! (wagging finger)

Me: Want to watch TV?

Grace: Yes. (Pronounced YYYYYesh.)

I plopped her in front of the TV and began to change her diaper.

Grace: NO! No no no no no! NO DIAPER! Dora Panties! Gracie JUICE! Gracie SAMMICH! EAT! EAT! EAT! (signing "eat" for effect)

At that point, I made an executive decision. We would be late. I was not going to stress about it any more. The kids were getting grumpy because I was trying to hurry them and I was getting grumpy because they wouldn't be hurried, so I just let it go. The mood IMMEDIATELY lightened.

Somehow I managed to dress the child and convince her that we would eat in the car. She refused shoes, shouting for her dinosaur slippers. FINE. Once in her dinosaur slippers, she screamed because Wesley was following them around, fascinated, and he's really, pretty fast for a crawler.

Finally we are ready to go. My usual goal is to get out of the house between 5:30 and 5:45. It was now a FULL HOUR LATER. Thank goodness for first period planning.

We made it out to the car. Everyone was in their seats and buckled up. I started the ignition and the low fuel light came on. Seriously.

OK, deep breaths.

Grace: GRACIE WANTS SAMMICH!

I handed her the sausage, egg, and cheese on whole wheat muffin I defrosted and cut into quarters for her . She began picking out the egg and sausage and throwing the pieces of muffin at her brother. Whatever.

I stopped for gas, only putting a quarter tank--enough to get me to work and back. I got back on the road and called Grandma Martha, the sitter. When she asked what happened, I stopped and considered what HAD happened. "I have no idea."

I called school and explained that I was WAY late. They were understanding. Would I be in time to teach my 2nd period class? Of course I would. Or so I thought.

Things were fine on the way out of town. Grace was occupied with her "sammich" and I can only presume Wesley's massive evacuation of his bowels followed by dinosaur-chasing had exhausted him because he was OUT. When we got to the two lane part of our commute, we got stuck behind a school bus. Between stops, the bus was only going 35 (IN A 55 MPH ZONE). Later and later, still. As the bus turned off of the highway, I breathed a sigh of relief and FLOORED IT. Approximately two minutes later, I saw the flashing lights.

Always the strategist, I reached into the back seat and plucked the pacifiers out of the kids' mouths. By the time the young officer got to my window, the sounds from inside my car were ear-splitting.

Officer (slightly raising his voice to be heard over the roar): Everything OK?

Me (smiling sweetly): Yes, sir.

Officer: You were going kind of fast.

Me: Was I? Sorry. I'll slow down.

Officer: OK, well be careful.

Me: Thanks.

ZOOM! I was out of there, and yes, I slowed down. Pacifiers back in place, we were on our way, again. We were almost there. I heard a smacking sound from the back seat.

Grace: Mmmmm....good toes.

I turned to see my adorable daughter pretending to eat her toes, like her brother. Both kids had taken off their shoes (OK, dinosaur slipper OR shoes) and socks. But Grace was also now dressed ONLY in her diaper. HOW IN THE WORLD? She's like Houdini.

Minutes later, I showed up at Grandma Martha's: Grace in only a diaper, upside down, feet over my left shoulder, smiling like mad. Wesley, with bare feet, slung over my right forearm. Their socks and Grace's clothes in a ball under my right arm.

I made it to work only 5 minutes late for my 2nd period class, which, by the way, is an HOUR AND TEN MINUTES LATE FOR WORK. So, what am I teaching my kids? Certainly not the importance of punctuality, I guess. But as this does not happen often, I hope I am teaching them, that occasionally, it is OK to slow life down for a second and to not be perfect, as long as you can live with the consequences.

Thanks to Pocahontus Fauss at http://www.reddaisyphoto.com/ for the Pics.

Chicken Pops

My kids had the chicken pox last week. (Or as one of my high-school students insists, Chicken Pops...he's 16 for heaven's sake!)
It started last friday night. Welsey, who'd just finished his second round of anti-biotics for the same ear infection was running a fever. I called the pediatrician as soon as they opened on Saturday and was in and out by 11. The ear infection was gone. The lungs sounded a bit wheezy...just watch him, she said. Fine.
By the afternoon, Grace was running a 102.7 fever. I felt like mother of the year for not having scheduled HER an appointment...by Sunday night, the fevers were gone and we were left with two cranky babies. Wes was pulling at his ear again, and his wheezing was getting worse. Monday, I took BOTH babies to the doctor. Of course, nothing was wrong with Grace, said the Dr. She's just fighting off a little cold. We, on the other hand, had another ear infection. He was prescribed Omnicef. We started him on the meds right away.
When he woke up with spots on Tuesday (they were just on his head), I thought a mosquito had gotten him. And when I picked the kids up from Mrs. Martha that afternoon, Grace had a few mosquito bites as well.
Wesley kept getting spots and spots. I thought it was an allergic reaction to the Omnicef and called the Dr. They said to bring him in. The Dr's visit goes like this:
Dr walks in and looks at Wes for two seconds without touching him: Ew, that's chicken pox.
Dr looks in ear: and he's still got a good ear infection. Keep up the antibiotics.
Dr points to Grace: Those are chicken pox, too.
Me: I thought they were mosquito bites.
Dr: hmmm.
Grace (to Dr): I wuv you!
Grace (to Jerry): NO! NO! NO!
Grace (to me): NO! NO! NO!
Grace (to nurse): GRACIE WANTS GREEN CANDY!
Grace was better by the end of the weekend. Wes stayed home with Jerry Monday and today.
Jerry: I think he's better. He looks better.
Me: Does he have any spots left?
Jerry: Just the one, on the bottom of his foot.
Me: Is it still green?
Jerry: Yeah.
Me: It's still chicken pox>
Jerry: but he'll wear socks and shoes
Me: (silence)
Jerry: couldn't we pop it?
Me: (more silence)
So, it's Tuesday night and Wes has ONE SPOT left. It won't go away. It's on the bottom of his foot and Jerry is threatening to pop it.
Grace has recovered nicely but tonight there was some green gunk in her eye we kept having to wipe out. With our current luck, she probably has conjunctivitis and will need to be out of daycare until the end of the school year.

Two lap babies can't sit in the same row

Did you know that two lap babies can't sit in the same row on an airplane because there aren't enough extra oxygen masks?

Did you know that 15-month-olds have to take their shoes off to get through airport security?

Well, we didn't know either, but now we do. Last Thursday, we ventured on our first trip as a family. We went to visit Jerry's brother's family in Missouri. We flew. My sort-of-sister-in-law talked me into it, saying, "this will be the last time you won't have to buy more than two tickets." She was right. But hidden in that message, unsaid, is the fact that we would be carrying two babies on the plane to hold in our laps all the way to Missouri. WHAT WERE WE THINKING?

Seriously...don't ask about our weekend

I had such high hopes for the weekend. I had gotten my grading under control. My school work (due Sunday night) was already started. Jerry had Saturday off. I was going to take the kids to a baby shower in Miami because he had been sick with the Flu. The weather was forecast to be beautiful! We talked about taking the kids to do something outside. In my mind, I imagined Grace playing out on the patio all weekend. I imagined at the end of the weekend, the laundry would not only be clean, but also put away. I imagined a week's worth of lunches in the fridge from the delicious cooking I would do. I imagined creative and engaging lesson plans detailed for my students. And doesn't all this make you wonder if I've ever HAD a weekend before?

Ah...Friday night. The end of a long work week, I imagined a relaxing night at home. Jerry and I were planning a nice dinner via takeout, spending some time together, and then working on our coursework. We got take-out. Grace refused to go to bed. Once she did go to sleep, Wes was up. All I remember was Jerry waking me up near 11; I had fallen asleep in bed with both kids. I hadn't worked on my school work, I hadn't showered, and it felt like my teeth were wearing a sweater. Of course, when I got out of bed to remedy the situation, Grace freaked out, and then the baby woke up, and the whole thing started over.

Flash forward to 2:30 A.M. Grace reaches over and puts a hand on my arm. Her hand is wet. Jerry wakes up and realizes she has gotten sick. Like throw-up sick. In our bed. By the time I realize what was happening, poor Grace was starting to vomit again. I grabbed her just in time to be covered in a heave of puke. Nice. Jerry strips the bed and I bathe Grace.

Did I mention we only have one set of sheets for our bed? Did I mention I have puke in my hair? With a clean t-shirt, Gracie cleaned up and re-dressed, our bed cleaned out and made-up with a combination of comforters and blankets from the guest room, I attempted to put Grace back to sleep.Her stomach had other ideas. She started hurling again. I got her to the sink in time to save the makeshift bedding and carpet. Convinced she had nothing left in her, I re-redressed her, changed my t-shirt (again) and started to rock her to sleep. She was tired and fell asleep quickly. The next wave of vomiting hit her as soon as I lifter her into her crib. She needed another bath, clean pajamas, and clean bedding. I gave up and kept my t-shirt on.

I finally got her to bed at about 4. I showered. I was just drifting to sleep when the baby woke up. Again. Thankfully, he wasn't sick, he only wanted to be nursed. An hour later, Grace woke up. She didn't get sick, but we did have to put her in our bed.

You'd think that after such a busy night, she'd be tired the next morning. But no--Grace was up at 7:30 asking for juice. She was playing, so I imagined she was done with being sick. I gave her juice. Fifteen minutes later, she burped so loud, she could have been a man. We were all ready to say, "good job!" when she starting puking again. I scooped her up (my poor t-shirt collection) and made it almost all the way to the sink. Poor baby--she was saying, "Oh no--my nose!". Gross.

I had to cancel for the baby shower. Jerry's Flu seemed worse. Grace had no appetite. I didn't push it. She was clingy and whiny. Wes had a cold and was coughing. I was getting no where on my coursework. But the clean laundry was getting folded! And I sent Jerry to Target to buy Grace some Gatorade and and extra set of sheets for our bed. Saturday night, we ordered Chinese food. Grace ate a ton of noodles and rice with soup broth, which is all I would give her. She went to bed early. So did Wes. I started my school work and so did Jerry. By 9:30, it felt like midnight. I was falling asleep at the keyboard. Jerry had to work the next day. We went to bed expecting to be up all night again. Grace woke up at about midnight, but went back to sleep when we put her in our bed. All was well.

When Jerry got up the next morning, so did Grace. She was fully herself again, talking, playing, laughing. I started the dishwasher. We heard a strange water noise, but figured it was the dishwasher. Jerry left for work. Jerry came back. The driveway was flooded. The garage was flooded. The hot water heater's bottom had rusted out. Jerry called in sick to work (which he WAS) and recruited help to fix the hot water heater.

By Sunday night, the kids were fed and bathed. The laundry was clean and in a giant pile, my school work was 1/3 done, I had no lesson plans, and the kids refused to go to bed or be without me. Jerry couldn't be near the baby because he had the Flu. I was in a panic.

At 11:53, I posted the last of my assignments (due at 11:55) and showered and went to bed. Grace was up and down all night and so was Wes. Monday morning at 4:30 AM, my alarm went off, and I got up and dressed myself and two babies. I drove us an hour to daycare and work on less than four hours of sleep and a weak cup of coffee. Grace ate my breakfast (pop tarts), so please, don't ask me how my weekend was.

I wonder if I'll ever be on time for anything again

I was never so good at being on time before I had Grace. After Grace, things went from bad to worse. And now? With the two of them, forget about it. I want to tell the story of a typical morning at the Sandlin house.

My alarm goes off at 4:30 AM. I am usually already up, nursing the baby, or just drifiting back to sleep from nursing the baby...we are all in one bed, sleeping like a pile of puppies. This was not planned, but as Grace is cutting four eye teeth at once and I can't stay awake through nursing, much less finish nursing and put the baby back in his bassinet...so there we all are (Jerry, too, when he's not on shift). I sneak out of bed to get myself dressed; everything but clothes. If I'm lucky, everyone stays asleep. That is not usually the case. If Grace wakes up, she plays in the bathroom while I do makeup, rearranging my sanitary napkins and extra rolls of toilet paper. If Wes wakes up, I have to make faces at him while putting on my make-up. He likes to "talk" to me. Once my hair and make-up are done, I nurse the baby again, to hold him over to breakfast (he's a big boy, and he likes to eat). Then, it's time to start dressing babies. If Jerry is home, we each take one. Once the babies are dressed, I herd them out the door. Grace likes to grab random things to take to Mrs. Martha's house: an extra shoe, a funny hat, some sunglasses (even though it's 5:45 AM and still dark out)--once she took a giant maxi pad she kept calling a sticker.

The car is already packed with the diaper bag, my things, and several snacks for Grace. Before we pull out of the driveway, she demands we begin the buffet. One day last week, I pulled out of the driveway, only to circle the block because on the way out of the house, she had put down her milk to grab some other random object, and was now screaming for milk. I ran in, got her milk, and we were on our way. I gave her a snack cup of lucky charms (which is not spill-proof, by the way, after they learn to take the lid off) and once she got tired of picking out the marshmallows and throwing the cereal on the floor, she started crying for a cracker. I didn't HAVE any crackers, but I had poptarts, which she ate. At THAT point, I had to pull over to retrieve the THREE binkies she had thrown on the floor and now could not possibly live without. We got back on the road, and she started crying for an apple. I drove the remainder of my one-hour commute trying to get her to stop crying and sing along with the kids' station on Sirius.

That I was only 10 minutes late to work was both miraculous and admirable.

Catching Up and Catching my Breath

My last post was on August 5th. I was lamenting about how uncomfortable and hot I was...how ready I was to have my labor induced...how concerned I was about dividing my attention between two babies...
It's only been three months, but it seems like I was writing that a lifetime ago. I can't imagine our lives without our little Wes. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I was scheduled to have my labor induced on Tuesday, August 18th. My prior exams showed I was dilated to 3, and had been for 3 weeks. We were in a holding pattern.
The weekend was nothing unusual. Jerry worked on Friday. Grace and I went grocery shopping and played outside. On Saturday, the three of us went to Cape Coral to look at another Craig's list find; a fabulous computer armoire. We made arrangements to pick it up the next day.
On Sunday, Jerry and Mike went to pick up the armoire while Grace and I attempted the 9:00 mass. We made it almost to communion! When the guys got back, I picked up lunch: awesome wings and fries from Buffalo Chips. I ate a ton. I spent the day nesting; I set up the bassinet and washed and dried a mountain of laundry. My plan was to fold it after Grace went to bed...the universe had other plans.
Grace went to bed around 7:30. I was feeling tired, but I was 9 months pregnant and had chased a one-year-old around all day. I didn't feel much like eating dinner. I told Jerry I was feeling "crampy". I showered and had a contraction. But it could have been my imagination...I told Jerry, "just so you know, I had a contraction, I think." Just about that time, I had another one.
Jerry: How long since the last one?
Me: ummm....four minutes? That can't be right. I don't know. Maybe they're not contractions.

Jerry suggested we eat ice cream. I whole-heartedly agreed. Four minutes later, there was another contraction. I was confused, because the doctor had said in my exam the week before that I wouldn't be able to walk or talk through real contractions. I was walking and talking fine, so I just assumed it wasn't the real thing.

Jerry: Maybe we should go to the hospital?
Me: They have to be like this for an hour. I'm sure they'll go away.

But an hour later, Jerry was pretty sure I was in labor, with contractions coming every four minutes. Here was the problem: Grace was sound asleep in her crib. My aunt wasn't coming until the next afternoon. I called a friend of mine whose daughter had babysat for Grace once before. She arrived within 20 minutes. During that time, Jerry took the truck to get gas, and I FINALLY finished packing my hospital bag, AND I finished my pre-admission paperwork, too!

When we were on our way to the hospital, I was still insisting that the contractions weren't real, and that the hospital staff would send us home when we got there. But the contractions intensified as we were on our way, and I finally convinced myself I was, in fact, in labor.

When we got to the hospital, I was ushered into a room by an obviously disbelieving nurse (WHY do they think everyone's NOT in labor?), but when she checked me, she changed her story.
Nurse: Oh my. You're at about 7. Give me one minute.
Nurse steps into the hall and quietly closes the door before shouting: We've got to get this girl upstairs!

Two hours later, we were holding Wes in our arms.



The gory details? I got some awesome drug combo in my IV. Contractions still hurt, I just didn't care. I did have an epidural, because I informed the staff that I would not be doing anything with out one. Unfortunately for me, by the time I got one, I was past 8 cm dilated, so the relief wasn't the complete-can't-feel-a-thing-numbing I had with Grace. I still felt. Ouch. My OB wasn't available, but I had seen the on-call doctor before. She broke my water, and there was meconium, which means the baby had had an in-utero bowl movement (lovely). His heart rate and everything still looked fine, though. But we have to have a team from the NICU present when he was born. And we didn't get to hold him immediately; they took him to suction him out really well, to make sure he didn't aspirate any of the meconium (blech). I pushed four times. Seriously. He was HUGE! 8 pounds, 13 oz....

Freaking Out

I don't think its fair that with all the horrific body stuff Pregnant women have to go through, we're not allowed to drink. I have been pretty much pregnant since September of 2007. Yes, my math is correct. I haven't had more than 1/2 glass of wine or a slug of Jerry's beer when he wasn't looking in almost two years....I'm not condoning alcohol abuse by pregnant women. And I know that no amount of alcohol has been proven safe during pregancy. I'm just saying, the universe could have cut us a little slack on this one...like is it too much to ask for a new scientific study to discover that through some miraculous study, wine is now the BEST prenatal vitamin EVER. Or perhaps Tequila could have been proven to boost apgar scores or something? But alas, we're forced to deal with the complete disfiguration and decimation of our bodies without the aid of an alcohol-induced haze. Oh well.

Back to the title, I am totally freaking out. My doctor had previously scheduled my induction for August 12th. Turns out, she'll be on vacation, so she pushed it back a week to August 18th. BOY does this change plans. First of all, I have to go back to work next week! One week from Monday, I will be reporting for duty to unpack my classroom and plan some lessons. I anticipate trouble focusing. And its not like I can just get a coffee to keep me going...because caffeine is another one of God's greatest gifts not recommended for pregnant women.

Ok, so August 18th is the new date. I would love to say, "I don't think I'll make it..." but when my Dr. checked my cervix (too much information, sorry) at 35 weeks, I was only dialated 2 cm. I am today 37 weeks AND NOTHING. IS. HAPPENING. I walk every day, do housework and cooking, and chase Grace around and do whatever I can do be active and still I'm in some sort of pre-baby holding pattern. I'm glad he's not coming because I don't REALLY have a plan for that, but I am so hot that I'm melting and none of my clothes covers me completely anymore. And I just want him OUT.

On the otherhand, work will be interesting with the bottom quarter of my belly hanging out. Fashion-wise, I just "go with it." It's too hot to wear clothes anyway. I put on clean, neat clothes, and what they cover, they cover. I don't stress.

Besides freaking out about not having an absolute plan for when the baby comes, I'm also starting to have some SERIOUS concerns about the "do-ability" of completely meeting the needs of both my newborn AND my wild-child 13-month old....yikes.

The End is Near

Ok, mark your calendars! Wesley David will be making his debut on August 12. My OB is awesome and understands we don't have family in the area, and we need to arrange childcare for Grace. SO, August 12, it is (at 38 4/7 weeks...). We will be scheduled for an induction.



My aunt, who is also Grace's Godmother has graciously offered to fly in to help us out. To say that panic has set in would be an understatement. Thinking back, I'm pretty sure the panic had set in when I saw the giant, neon flashing "POSITIVE" on the home pregnancy test. I've been panicked for six months (remember, we only found out we were expecting at 3 months...). How in the WORLD am I going to be able to care for our little Gracezilla with a newborn? What if he's colicky? What if Grace resents him or pokes him in the eye? I mean, let's be serious. I only have the one kid now, and I'm not in line to win any mother of the year award... So, I guess my point is, I'm certainly glad to have help on the way.



Grace had her first birthday. I had a heck of a time planning her little party. I have entertained before. Before Grace was born, we had little parties all the time. I threw baby showers (ok, one, but still...) and hosted get-togethers. For some reason, every bit of common sense I had about party-planning flew out of the window. Why? Because the party was for a 1-year-old? Like she was going to notice the difference? I have no idea why, but suddenly, I found myself completely inept at organizing, planning, and pulling off a child's party. Thankfully, it all turned out fine...



We did have another appointment at 33 weeks. Everything looked great. Baby's heart rate sounded great. I refuse to write about it more than that, because to write about it would be to relive it, and it was bad enough the first time around. Let's just say Jerry and Grace came with me and the doctor was running a tad bit behind schedule (read "tad bit" as 1.5 hours).



More exciting stuff? We had the COOLEST maternity pics done. The photographer's website is http://www.reddaisyphoto.com/ and she is awesome. She was actually recruiting pregnant women to photograph for her portfolio, so we got the session for free! Anyway, we loved her so much, we scheduled a sitting for Grace on July 31st to do some 1-year-old pics. And the photographer will be doing another session at our house right after Wes is born.

Our next appointment is Monday, July 20. I'll be 35 weeks. Time for my Strep B swab. Hooray.

Paper Towel Micro-Mini

I am now on an every-two-week OB appointment schedule. I guess they figure hey--she's 30 weeks pregnant, what else is she doing? Whatever. I don't want to argue, so I roll on in, and face the scale.

Today was my appointment. I am something like 31 weeks and 5 days. We were not scheduled for an ultrasound or anything "cool," so Jerry didn't go with me. He was at work, so Grace did.

My doctor had been called away to the hospital for a delivery. Would I like to see another doctor? Come back later in the afternoon? Reschedule? I was there. I was dressed. I was even wearing mascara. I had just single-handedly wrestled Grace into public-appropriate clothing and managed to keep her clean from the house to the car AND during the 45-minute ride to the Doctor's office. Did I mention it was apparently monsoon season, and we were both now dripping from the jog (yes, 8-months-pregnant and wearing flip-flops, toting a toddler and a 45-lb diaper bag RAN in the rain) from the car to the door? All I could do was stare at the nurse, trying to think of a decent way to express my sentiment. It must have been obvious, because before I could say anything, she looked me over, turned to her clipboard, and mumbled, "I'll put you on the shortest list."

After chasing Grace around the waiting room for a bit, I was called back. Weight gain? 2 pounds in 2.5 weeks--not bad! Blood pressure? Lovely considering the waiting room Olympics in which I had just contended. When the nurse asked me if there were any problems or changes, I mentioned I'd been having a good number of Braxton Hicks contractions. (I know it was because we just got back from a road trip and I was doing a lot of chasing Grace around in the heat, but I promised Jerry I'd mention it, so I did.) So, because of this, the nurse assumes the doctor will want to check me and hands me a paper blanket thingy, escorts me and Grace to a room, gives us the once over and says, "Bottoms off. " She leaves the room.

There we are. The three of us. Me, Grace, and the paper blanket thingy, which, for a normal-sized non-pregnant woman who is not chasing around and 11-month-old, I'm sure it drapes nicely over the lap.... I can picture this serene woman, lounging fully-covered, flipping through the latest issue of Vogue, waiting patiently for the doctor. Believe me, this was not the picture in MY exam room...

I had to settle for wrapping the thing around me and tucking it, like a towel while I chased Grace around the room. She was due for a nap, which for some reason always results in hyperactivity...So, as I'm crouched down, simultaneously trying to coax her into reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar, again, and pry the mystery medical instrument she just discovered in a drawer out of her fist, she decides that Mommy's paper dress looks interesting. She grabbed a fist-full and pulled. The second her little hand ripped the paper, her eyes lit up. She was either attracted to the ripping noise or the sound of my dignity flying out of the window. Suddenly, the child was all hands. Every time I looked at her, she had another fist-full of paper.

So, by the time the doctor, WHO WAS NOT EVEN MY DOCTOR OR PERSONALLY KNOWN TO ME, came in to check me, I was perched on the floor reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear, holding the biggest piece of the blanket thingy Grace had left me, which was, by the way, no bigger than a cocktail napkin. I just looked up and smiled.

The contractions were probably because I was dehydrated. Everything was/is fine. Wesley is measuring right on track. I'm to keep up the good work, etc. And I pray I never have to look that doctor in the face again.

Grace's birthday is next week. People keep asking me what appropriate gifts would be. Seems to me paper cover-ups pilfered from Doctor's offices would be ideal and cost-effective.

Pregnancy brain is REAL

OK, so I know most of you have heard of "pregnancy brain," right? Where pregnant women have difficulty focusing or remembering? I'm here to tell you its REAL. Lately, I've been really bad...It's taking me longer and longer to get myself together to leave the house, checking and rechecking things I've packed. I've put the salad dressing away in the Tupperware cupboard instead of the fridge. I spent at least 20 minutes trying to find my cell phone and couldn't for the life of me find it only to realize it had been in my hand the ENTIRE time. A woman on my pregnancy board nearly left home without her pants. I hadn't done anything THAT bad. Until...

Grace and I, celebrating our Summer vacation, had plans to have lunch with a friend. My friend met us at our house, and I was going to drive. She parked behind me. She asked me if I had enough room to get around her. I walked to the back of the car, looked, and said, "oh yeah...plenty of room." I then got into my car, started it, threw it into reverse and promptly smacked into the front of her car. Thank goodness there was no damage...but SERIOUSLY??? Is the oxygen in my blood being re-routed from my brain to finish growing this baby?

Glucola, Horse Shots, and Giant Babies

When you're 28 Weeks Pregnant, the doctors like for you to come in and be de-sensitized to needles. I had my appointment today. First, on my way there, I had to drink an unreasonably large serving of this Glucola drink...a cross between maple syrup and flat orange soda. The only reason I held it down was because I KNEW (from prior experience) that if I ralphed, the nurse at the office would NOT feel bad for me. And she would give me ANOTHER Glucola drink and I'd have to start all over....

At the Office...

After being weighed (4 pounds for the month, thank you...) and blood pressured (fine, fine...no worries) and given a "specimen cup" to umm....leave a specimen (and are these things getting smaller at each appointment?), the nurse unapologetically took at least three tubes of blood. And because my blood is Rh-, it was time for my Rhogam shot. Apparently, my doctor's office was out of regular injection needles and borrowed some horse needles from a vet's office somewhere. Needless to say, the nurse was able to inject the Rhogam into my marrow. She did have the courtesy to ask whether I'd prefer to be incapacitated in my right or left arm for the week...

Bandaged and bruised, it was off to the Ultrasound room. I knew I was going to be getting another U/S to check for low fluid (it was critically low with Grace, but we only caught it by accident. There is no increased risk for low fluid with this pregnancy. I think maybe the Dr was only checking because I was worried?) so I brought the team with me. I lay serenely on the paper-covered table staring up at the big-screen ultrasound, the baby inside me assaulting me from the inside with all his might, attacking every internal organ in his proximity (which at this point is all of them). The baby outside of me was attacking her dad with every ounce of force and all the skill available to an 11-month-old. While he tried to get her to focus on the books in her bag, she was screaming in her baby-language what Jerry and I know was "OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE!"

Despite the minor distractions, here's what we learned: Baby Wesley is doing great. He's measuring right on track for his gestational age. He has plenty of fluid to swim around in. He is DEFINITELY a boy and had his boy parts proudly on display. He's also measuring in the 70th Percentile for weight/length. So, despite my best efforts (and success, I might add) in the moderate-weight gain department, my baby is still on track to weigh in at over eight pounds when he's born. Ouch. Again.

On my way out, the nurse snagged me again...she needed just one more vial of blood....eh.

We're HOW MANY weeks?

Where has the time gone? 27 weeks pregnant is coming up this Saturday. The best part about that is, if for some reason, Wesley HAD to be born, he would have an 85 % chance of survival. Good news, yes, but let's all hope he stays right where he is for the time being...

Meanwhile Grace is walking! Seriously...she is walking and sometimes RUNNING! And she's so proud of herself. And we're so proud of her, too... Its been a rough couple of weeks for her. Starting three weeks ago, when Ms. Martha (the best day-care provider in the world) called me in my classroom and says, "I'm just calling to make sure...you know Grace has Thrush, right?" to which I responded, "Ummm....what's thrush?"

So, one doctor's visit and three prescriptions later, we were treating thrush, the yeast infection that goes with it, oh...and let's not forget the ear infection that somehow snuck in there.

Flash forward about 10 days; the end of the antibiotic. Grace is running a fever and has a cough. We go back to the Dr. Seems her Thrush is all cleared up (on both ends) but the ear infection switched sides? We were prescribed a stronger antibiotic. That was Friday. Today is Wednesday. I haven't slept since then. I took Grace BACK to the Dr today, convinced she STILL had the ear infection. The kid was whiny, clingy, not eating, not sleeping.... No ear infection. Turns out the meds were making her sick. So, because the infection was gone, we ditched the rest of the antibiotic and are hoping for a good night's sleep tonight, and seriously, it would be nice to make the rest of the school year without having to take time off to take her in!

Back to Wesley: I read in some other pregnant someone's blog this past week that being very pregnant feels like being crowded. I couldn't put it any better. I feel crowded. I'm being squeezed out of my own body. Of course, this someone was 36 weeks pregnant, looked like a blond supermodel, and her 36-week belly looked like my 12-week belly, and I hate her. Yet, I digress...

I am still jogging and doing strength training. I had another appointment last week. I only gained four pounds the previous month. I'm very proud of my not getting out of control with my weight-gain. Like I said before: anything less than double the recommended weight gain and I'm golden.

I'm starting to notice the swelling, though...feet and face (I don't mind the feet so much, because I can't see them anymore). Of course I'm watching the sodium, but it doesn't help that everything delicious has a ton of sodium. AND the back pain...I feel like t his kid is ripping me apart, and he's starting at my tailbone! All I can do is stretch, because getting to the chiropractor requires extra energy and also child-swapping coordination, which Jerry and I have not quite perfected yet...

Wesley is extremely active. Grace was, too, but this is different. This kid means business. He's so rough! Maybe he's trying to chew his way out, or something?

Ok, so, next appointment is June 5th, and I'll be doing the delicious glucose test, for the second time this pregnancy, hopefully, with equally stellar results as the last time. (The only reason I can hold that glucola swill down is knowing that if I yak, they're just going to make me drink another one.)