My mommy’s having a baby

Now that we’re in the final weeks of being pregnant, I keep thinking back to how I was feeling, both physically and emotionally, during the last month I was carrying Taylor and comparing it to how I’m feeling this go-round. Body-wise, I’m pretty miserable. And because this time I’m chasing after a toddler and unable to just sit at a desk and pretend to work, my body just aches and screams at me throughout the day. And I’m sure every pregnant woman in her ninth month can relate to this constant uncomfortableness, and longs to just have her body back. I think it’s part of the Universe’s way of prepping mothers. Yes, I will totally trade up sleep and clutch-purses to be able to see my feet and not feel like my spine is twisted like a bendy straw.

And when I was in my 37th week with Taylor, I’m pretty sure a big chunk of my thoughts were focused on labor. Because we were in the middle of finishing our childbirth class, and because I was scared to death of it. When is it going to happen? How bad is it going to hurt? How long will it last? Will I be able to follow my birth plan? You know, the typical new mom-to-be anxiety wrapped around the event you’ve been leading up to for 40 weeks.

And it’s not like I’m NOT thinking about my upcoming labor right now, it’s just not the first thing on my mind. I think back to all the prep-work Chris and I did in getting ready for Taylor’s birth, and while I’m so happy that we had poured our thoughts over every situation that might arise, I also remember how a lot of those tricks and techniques were totally forgotten as soon as the first real contraction hit. For example, when we were in our childbirth class we were told that sometimes familiar music helps relax the mood. And so Chris spent an entire day burning numerous CDs to bring into the delivery room to help soothe me in my time of need. And when we showed up to the hospital on the morning of Taylor’s birth, we had a big bag full of gear and a CD player to help us make the labor experience as easy and painless as possible. And after my water broke and the contractions started violently pushing my insides out, I ripped off my fuzzy socks, spit out my cherry-flavored lollipop and told Chris that if he didn’t turn off Chalkdust Torture at that exact moment that I was going to throw him out the fourth-floor window. And thus began the process of Just-get-this-baby-out-of-me. And then Taylor was born. And everything was perfect... Even without the labor-soundtrack playing in the background.

So even though we’re taking a more relaxed approach to this labor and delivery, that doesn’t mean that I’m not stressing out about having this baby. But not because I’m worried about having to scratch my birth plan. No, this time I am primarily worried about how Taylor is going to handle the whole situation. And this has been my major concern throughout this entire pregnancy... How is Taylor going to cope with us bringing a new baby home?

And one reason I’m concerned about the Princess being knocked off her pedestal is because, according to my parents, I was less then pleased when my sister was born. In fact, I was so upset with my mother when Libba arrived that I REFUSED to go into the hospital room and see either of them. I was pretty furious about the whole situation, and not even the shiny baby doll my dad bought on the way to meet my new sister could ease the pain of me losing the only-child status in our house.

Chris, on the other hand, was apparently the overachieving big brother when Ryan was born. You should hear his mom describe it, Chris was a perfect ANGEL. He was such a good helper and just loved his baby brother as soon as he was born. Perfect, perfect, perfect. And then he grew a magnificent set of angel wings and would fly from room to room, playing a harp, changing diapers and deep cleaning the carpet. Insert gagging noises here.

So because Taylor’s genetic code is split down the middle as to how she’s gonna handle this whole Baby-being-born event, we decided to take every opportunity available to ease the transition of her having to share the spotlight. And a few months ago I heard about a class that Asheville’s Health Adventure hosted at Mission Hospital twice a month called, My Mommy’s Having a Baby. So I signed Taylor and I up, and yesterday afternoon we adventured to the hospital to check it out.

It was just us and one other family there for the class. They had a son, Caleb, who was about a year older then Taylor. And because it was such a small group, I tried my best to make friends. And when I asked the mom if she knew if she was having a boy or a girl, her response was, Way-ell. Kay-lib been praying to Jesus for a whole yee-er foh a baby sis-tah. An our dreams came true. Itsah gurl. An we gonna name er Kay-lee. So we’s gonna have a Kay-lib and a Kay-lee. To which Caleb looked at me and pointed to his mother’s belly and said, That there’s my baby sistah. An I love er. Wow. Way to go, Caleb.

So once we got back to the actual classroom, the very nice instructor, Miss Peggy, read us all a book about a mother being pregnant and having a baby. And she would stop at certain points of the story and ask both Taylor and Caleb questions about their mother’s stomachs getting so big and what they thought the baby might want to play with when they get home. It was really cute. And Taylor kept chiming in with adorable little comments about her baby brother/sister, like, My baby already has a crib, and, My baby gonna play with my Princess dolls, and, My baby gonna sit in my lap.

And when Miss Peggy asked the kiddos who they were going to be with when Mommy and Daddy went to the hospital to have the baby, Taylor proudly announced that she was going to go to her friend Elliot’s house to play. And that she was going to bring her Cinderella costume and the new Tinkerbell toothbrush I bought her for her overnight bag. And then Caleb answered, I’s going to me Maw-maw and Paw-paw house.

After the story was over, each kid was given a giant baby doll to hold and then they were each able to color a present for their new siblings.

We then went on a mini-tour of the Mother/Baby unit at the hospital, and it was nice for me to be able to check out a room and refamiliarize myself with the layout of where I’ll be staying in a few weeks. Mission is a great hospital, and our experience there with Taylor was fantastic. And just being in one of the rooms was exciting, because I left it knowing that the next time I would be in one I would be snuggling with my new baby.

So while the class was primarily for Taylor, it was good for me too. I came home and gathered a few special items I have been collecting for her in the past few weeks – new coloring books, a few small toys – and put them in my hospital bag for when she comes to visit us and meet her baby brother/sister for the first time. And I’m sure that I’m probably putting a lot of unneeded stress on the whole situation, and that she’ll be awesome and super excited to meet her new sibling. I’m just worried about her. And I’m nervous as to how this is going to change our relationship, and how she’s going to adjust to having to share my attention with the baby. Let’s just cross our fingers and hope she follows her Daddy’s perfect big sibling example on this one, because if she’s mad or upset with me, it will break my heart. And the bank. Because I totally believe in the power of bribery, and there's enough Princess loot online to soothe any frazzled toddlers pain.

Nemo the third

A few nights ago we were gathered around the dinner table, finishing our meal and discussing a certain cute kiddos upcoming third birthday party, when Taylor announced to both Chris and I that she was super excited for all her friends to come to her house, eat cake and sing Happy Birthday to her. And then she took a quick glance at the fishbowl in the center of the table and said, And I want all my friends to meet Nemo too!

And up until that point, Deuce, also known as Nemo the second, was doing great. Much better then the original Nemo that Chris brought home for Taylor on Valentine’s Day, and then we found floating belly-up last week. And after the top-secret switch-a-roo, we were happy to have a red betta fish that actually ate it’s food and showed a little life. We were feeling pretty good about ourselves and our fish-care capabilities, especially since Miss T was doing awesome following the No-milk-or-chips-in-Nemo’s-bowl rule.

So imagine my surprise and utter disappointment when we woke up to a dead Deuce the next morning. SERIOUSLY?! And after calling Chris to alert him of ANOTHER floating Nemo, we both agreed that we’d have to make another sneaky switch and just avoid the dead-pet talk for the time being. And because my daughter is all over me all the time, Deuce was barely flushed down the toilet when I hear her chirping, MOM! What you doing? Why you have that net? WHERE’S NEMO? To which I replied, Well, Honey. Dad wanted to take Nemo to work with him this morning to show all his friends. Don’t worry, he’ll bring him back home soon.

And after another phone call to Chris, he made an impromptu stop home over his lunch break with our third red betta fish of the month, Nemo the third, also known as Tres. And a bottle of de-fungus, let’s-hope-this-fish-lasts-more-then-a-week solution for the fishbowl. And Thank Goodness! he keeps getting a different sales person at PetSmart for each visit he’s made, otherwise we might be put on some Betta Fight Club watch list.

So Tres is doing pretty good so far, as in HE’S STILL ALIVE.

He’s eating, he’s swimming all over, he’s exploring the shells in his bowl. Taylor has another Nemo, and life seems to be alright in the Famous Amys house for the moment. And while many of you might be wrapped up in your March Madness brackets right now, I’m suspecting a few of you might start taking bets as to how long until we have to introduce Quattro to the family. At $2.99 a pop, this whole pet-fish idea of Chris’s is starting to add up.

35 months old

Taylor turned 35-months old last week, and I'm having a really hard time wrapping my head around the fact that my little girl is turning three in just a few short weeks. I guess you could call it denial. Or pure terror. Because everyone I know who has a three year old has decidedly wanted to share with me in the past weeks that they think the Threes are way worse then the Twos. And that somehow, after her birthday next month, a switch is going to flip within my precious Princess and she's gonna turn from a cute, cuddly kiddo to a total nightmare of a child. Thanks, folks. That's EXACTLY what a mother who is a month away from giving birth wants to hear. Why don't you just tell me how bad my hair looks too? Oh, and you forgot to mention my cankles and the super-sexy waddle I'm rocking right now.

But, like most delusional parents, I'm holding out hope that Taylor will be the exception to this gruesome-three year old protocol. She HAS to be. She doesn't have a choice in the matter. Kind of like how she'll be required to follow the concrete-rules Chris established about how she won't be able to date until she's twenty and how all shorts and skirts must extend past her fingertips when her arms are at her sides. Sorry, Honey. Not only will you be forbidden to have anymore unwarranted emotional breakdowns during your toddler years, but your Dad's gonna make you dress like a nun once you reach puberty.

And in addition to almost turning three, Miss T is starting to look like such a big kid now too. And I know that this hugeness will be exemplified once Baby Amys comes home, and how she will look like a giant next to a newborn. When Libba was visiting last month, she took a ton of pictures. Some of which you are enjoying with this post. And when she was editing her photos, she remarked that looking at a few of them made her heart ache because she was able to see what Taylor was going to look like as an adult. That all of that fantastic baby-chub is melting off her face and body, and she's starting to look like a real person and not just a squishy baby who once boasted the most smoochable cheeks in the universe.

And even though she's not a baby anymore, we are still having a hard time detaching ourselves from a few baby-things in our house. Namely the pacifiers and pull-ups. We are making progress on both fronts, but with the serious transitions our house will be undertaking in the next few months, anything that brings comfort and security to Taylor isn't at the top of my list to get rid of. So, all I can say is, We'll get there eventually. And I am confident that by the time the end of summer rolls around, both of those items will belong strictly to Baby.

And in addition to the final stages of de-babying Taylor the toddler, we finally enrolled her in a preschool program starting in the fall. And I say finally because right now she is pretty much the only one of her little friends that isn't in any sort of program, and she keeps saying that she really wants to go to school like her buddies do. So with Baby coming, we thought it was the perfect time to start her in a program that she could go to a few mornings a week so she could have some fun with her friends and also have something that is just hers. And it will also allow me to have some one-on-one time with Baby. And while I knew this day would be coming, I can already tell you that I am going to be an emotional wreck the first morning I drop her off. Ugh. It gives me heartburn just thinking about it.

So Taylor is growing up in leaps and bounds, and she is still talking up a storm and asking a zillion questions a day. And while I am absolutely thrilled to have such a bright, inquisitive daughter, sometimes the constant bombardment for information just becomes exhausting. Which I'm sure has a lot to do with the fact that I'm carrying a six-pound fetus in my belly and haven't been able to get a comfortable night's sleep in the past two weeks. So when my daughter looks at me and asks for the millionth time why ballerinas wear leg warmers, my response might be delayed because it's really hard to talk while I'm yawning.

And while I know the tossing and turning all night is the Universe's way of getting me ready for the around-the-clock feedings that start next month, I also feel like it's prepping me to find ways to stay both calm and collected while being both sleep deprived and the mother of the world's most questioning toddler. Because it's going to be really hard. And I'm sure there are going to be times that I get snappy with her because I'm so tired and drained that my emotions will get the best of me. And just the thought of that breaks my heart a little bit. Because she is such a good girl, and for as long as I live all I want her to know is how much I adore her and how wonderful I think she is. And I especially need her to know that after Baby comes next month, and I won't always be able to give her my undivided attention. She will always be my precious girl. And I love her so much.

Because there's no way I'm giving up snacks right now

I mentioned in a previous post that I am in the middle of becoming a Catholic, and in that process I am taking part in all of the traditions and expectations buried within the faith surrounding the Lenten season. Last Wednesday Taylor and I adventured to church to receive our ashes - Her's which she immediately wiped off her head, Mine which she kept staring at all day and repeatedly asking me, Mom, what's on your face? Hey Mom, you got something on your face. Come here Mom, I need to wipe that off your face.

And since I'm in pretty deep with my conversion, we also enjoyed a fabulous meat-free Friday as a family this past weekend. And luckily for us, fish isn't considered a meat, so we were still able to totally pig out on avocado burritos and fish tacos at Papas and Beer that night. Because I only have five more weeks to satisfy all of the food cravings and indulgences that float through my extremely pregnant brain. And then it's mixed greens and roasted vegetables until I am back to my pre-baby bod.

And because I only have about a month left to stuff my face full of Nacho Cheese Doritos and jelly beans, the notion of giving up junk food or sugar for Lent was just setting me up for failure. Or misery. But most likely failure. Not much will-power going on in this house right now. So when a member of my RCIA class suggested alternatives to giving up something for Lent, I was thrilled to have another outlet to show my gratitude and faith during the 40 days of worship. And the alternative I chose is to donate my time and resources to a worthy charity.

And after sifting through a number of worthy organizations, both Chris and I decided to pledge our efforts to the American Red Cross. Of course I had heard of the Red Cross before and had solely associated them with their blood services and disaster relief efforts, but was amazed to learn of the integral role they also provide to the lives of our military men and women. And as the daughter/granddaughter of someone who has served our country, I am thrilled to be able to help an organization that alleviates any stresses and burdens bestowed on the people that protect our freedom and their families.

And in looking back at the many awful, devastating disasters that have occurred around the world in the past years - Most recently the earthquake and tsunami that has crippled Japan - the Red Cross is always right there with medical personnel and supplies to help. And they are there without fail. And while you are all aware of their efforts and dedication, many of you probably don't know that they are there without any taxpayer funding. None. Their ability to serve is solely dependent on fundraising efforts done on a local level. And right now, with the current crisis unfolding in Japan, they need our help more then ever.

And anytime I turn on the news or open the paper and read about a horrible tragedy that has occurred either halfway across the world or in the next state over, the first thing I do is become extremely thankful of all the blessings I have in my life, such as my health,my family, a roof over my head and a pantry full of food. And the next thing I do is wonder if there is anything I could do to help those in need after such a terrible disaster. And sadly, even though the thought is there, I never follow through. Well, now I am. And I'm hoping that some of you will help too.

Please take a moment and visit my Red Cross Heros link. It does a much better job describing ALL of the services it provides on both a local and global level. This is an organization that is a vital part of our community and our country, and they need our help. No donation is too small or too large, and any contribution is tax deductible. With our help, we can give the Red Cross the support it needs to continue on its mission to help, heal and assist all those in need. Thank you for your help.

Nemo the sequel

So last week I was finishing up some laundry in the basement while Taylor was eating her lunch at the table. And as I was walking up the stairs to check on her, I hear her say, Hey, Nemo. Wanna chippy? And as I turned the corner I found her dipping a Nacho Cheese Dorito into the fish bowl, which she had moved from the center of the table to right in front of her. And when she saw me and the horrified expression on my face, she stopped cold, put the chip in her mouth and then asked me with a straight face, Should I give him grape too?

And you may remember how a few weeks ago I found out that she was pouring milk from her sippy cup into Nemo's bowl, and that explained why it was nearly impossible to keep the water clear. And after lecturing her as to why fishes aren't lactose-tolerant, and then thoroughly cleaning the fishbowl, I thought we were over putting random morsels in Nemo's living space. But I guess I was wrong.

And it's not like I can really blame her for thinking that her pet would eat all of the same yummy food that she does, especially when we live with Ruby Blue, also known as The Sweeper. Any smidgen of food that hits the ground, and our beloved lab is right there to clean up the dirty work. We've even busted our pooch licking out half-empty snack bowls that T has left unattended on the coffee table. And if you think that's gross… Well, then you don't have a dog and a toddler living under the same roof.

So after de-chipping Nemo's bowl after the whole lunch incident, and then giving Taylor another lesson on fish dietary etiquette, I thought we were in the clear. Well, all fuzzy fish-feelings flew right out the window when I discovered dear old Nemo floating belly-up yesterday morning before breakfast. Ah. Rest in peace, buddy.

And instead of alerting Taylor to the whole dead pet situation we had going on, I just quietly moved the fish-casket onto the kitchen counter and Chris made an emergency trip to PetSmart to purchase another dark red Betta fish. And when Miss T caught me cleaning out the bowl and rinsing fish carcass off the rocks and shells, she asked, Hey Mama, where's Nemo? And I just looked at her and said, He wanted to take a car ride with Dad and Ruby. He'll be right back. And she bought it.

And after Chris, Ruby and Nemo the second, got home, we put our next potential victim in his new home, where he fluttered and kicked with a level of ferocity that made us hopeful of survival. And Chris looked at me wishfully and said, I picked the most active one of the bunch… I told the guy we needed a real fighter. And one that might also have a digestive tract that can handle milk and Doritos.

Doll lunch

This morning I took Taylor to a Baby Doll lunch at the Country Club. I had heard about these sorts of functions in relation to American Girl Doll stores and such, and because my daughter loves dolls as much as this pregnant woman loves lunch, we were ecstatic to join my friend, Jen, and her daughter, Marin, for a celebration of all things girly and delicious.

And at the very beginning of the luncheon, all the little girls were asked to say their name and the name of the doll they brought. And when it was Taylor's turn, she proudly announced that she was, Tay-wurr E-wiz-a-beth A-muss, and that she brought her doll, Stwah-berry Shortcake.

And after a fabulous lunch of chicken tenders and grilled cheese sandwiches, the itty-bitties sang songs and played a passing-the-baby-bumblebee game.

Taylor was especially excited for the cake. And when she saw that the candle was an actual sparkler… Well, let's just say we're gonna have to step it up for her birthday cake this year.

It was a super cute party and I was really happy that we were able to go, and with Baby Amys scheduled to arrive in a mere five weeks, any sort of special Mama-Taylor time makes my heart smile. Especially when cake is involved.

Sweet reflections

One of the games my sister and Taylor played when Libba was visiting us last weekend was Beauty Salon. Or, more accurately, Taylor sitting her Beeba in front of the full-length mirror in her room and just combing through her hair. And after Lib left, I have become the permanent subject of the salon Princess. And I'm so not complaining. Because having a long-toothed comb drug up and down my scalp sends tingles throughout my entire body. It's heavenly.

And even better then the head massage is the ridiculously cute chit-chat that my daughter and I have while she's working on my hair. Today, while hard at work on my tangles, she looked at me in the mirror and said, You're Mama Brooke, and I'm Taylor. And we love Daddy Chris and Ruby. Or yesterday, she ran her fingers through my hair and said, You're hair so soft, Mama. My hair soft too. Just like Sleeping Beauty.

And the cuteness is so overwhelming, I just want to sop it up with a sponge and squeeze it into a bottle to save forever. But I don't know how to do that. So I just tried to take a few pictures of it instead.