The Eve of Baby Three

The Waiting Game

Baby #3 is coming just around the corner. I am officially due October 20th, but I would really appreciate if the baby came on October 10th. In this way, the date will be easy to remember, creating more mental capacity for other pursuits. But alas, there is no safe/sane way to control this. The doctor said it is just a waiting game now.

I decided to take a glamour shot of the belly. I was never enticed to take maternity pictures because I feel especially grungy during pregnancy, but I thought it might be good to have some sort of photographic evidence. 

Photographic Evidence:

About the Belly

I get approached all the time by strangers saying, "You must be having a boy." When I ask them how they know, they reply, "Your belly is low and in front like a basketball." I've looked it up (and so I know everything), and it seems to be a very popular myth. The shape of the belly more has to do with body type/torso length/whether this is the first baby or not/etc. The thing that made the most sense to me was that this being my third baby, my stomach muscles are stretchier and so everything hangs lower. I know, very appealing.

I'm glad this pregnancy is almost over. I've been especially cranky this pregnancy, sometimes snapping at my kids and huffing at the hubbie. They've adapted quite nicely, and they know to leave me in a dark room with the door closed. I'm glad Simon is old enough to respect, "the nap." He can play by himself for one hour blocks of time, so it has facilitated a means to continue living.

About the Name

For the longest time, I've wanted to name a boy, "Henry." The boy next door laughed when I told him this, and he said, "When I picture a Henry, I picture a nerd with glasses and a button-up shirt." I said, "Exactly! That's the kind of boy I want." One of my favorite apostles is named Henry B. Eyring, so I liked that this name could produce someone sensitive and intelligent. But A.J. was so insistent on naming this one, "Luke." Luke as in Luke Skywalker or the apostle from the Bible. I felt Luke was too masculine of a name, and it was hard to give Luke a nickname because it was already one syllable and rhymed with puke.

We debated over this for several months, refusing to give in, referring to the baby as, "Baby." Finally, I decided it was okay to name him Luke, as long as his middle name was Henry and in the house we could refer to him as, "Hen-Hen." It was a tense compromise, with A.J. cringing every time I referred to the baby as, "Hen-Hen." Even the kids joined in the "Hen-Hen" chorus, until I could see it was mentally chipping away at A.J.'s defenses. Just this last week, A.J. started to say, "Hen-Hen"–whether consciously or not–thus the psychological, passive-aggressive battle was won.

In Conclusion

So our crib is just barely set up, our baby clothes still somewhere in the attic, and a pack of too-big-but-on-sale diapers tucked under A.J.'s nightstand and that is our version of ready. With the adventure of pregnancy almost over, a new one is about to begin.

When a 4-Year Old Grapples with Existential Questions

Lately, my oldest who is 4, almost 5, has developed a more sophisticated part of her mind - the part that has empathy for characters in books and movies, the part that worries about the future, and the part that frets about the inevitableness of death. 

Last month, I took her to an OBGYN appointment and as we were waiting in the exam room, I showed her a cool 3D model of a woman’s reproductive system. There were slide out cards that showed different things that could go wrong in a pregnancy - placenta previa or C-section. She became very disturbed at the C-section drawing and started to cry, “I don’t want you to have a C-section.” I tried to reassure her that C-sections were usually for emergencies. This led to a bunch of follow up questions throughout the day about what qualified as an emergency. It also led to discussions of the baby possibly dying without the option of surgeries. It preoccupied her mind. Later that night she burst into tears and said, “I never want a baby. I never want a C-section.” I was surprised and maybe a little unempathetic that she was STILL worried about it! 

This is only one side of her obsession with mortality. One day, she started asking me about death and what it felt like. I told her, “it probably feels like falling asleep and never waking up. But I don’t know, I’ve never died.” She then asked me when I would die. My answer: “Maybe in 10 years.” This seemed to satisfy her for awhile, because to her, 10 years is forever. Then randomly, while lying in the dark before sleep, she asked me, “Mom, when you die, can I have a spot next to you so we can be buried together?” It seemed strange to me that of all the things to think about before sleep, she was thinking about this. 

But this is growing up. No longer does she simply worry about toys or friends but now hypotheticals and death. They grow up so fast...

The Week of Vomit

It has been a rough couple months. In two separate occasions, I've seen the sudden onslaught of a highly contagious illness strike our family one by one – like a dark game of dominos – until we were all moaning on the couch like the undead. I know, this is just life, but it was horrible enough that I had to write about it.

The Stomach Flu

Friday: 

It all started when AJ bought the rotisserie chicken from Costco. We brought it home but didn't eat it right away. Later that night, we reheated it and enjoyed it's scrumptious meat (even writing about the chicken makes me ill now, but at the time, it was scrumptious).

Later that night, Rosie woke up in the middle of the night crying. I sat beside her, waiting for the tears to subside, but instead the crying intensified until vomit ensued. I will try to describe the vomit because it is essential to understanding the horror, but you are free to skip to the next paragraph. The vomit was a sick purple-brown and it was deeply digested. Sometimes when food have been in the stomach for a short amount of time, it come up looking a little chewed but not too bad. This one had been stewing and the smell was a permeating reek of chicken and acid. Also, this vomit was sticky - like mucus and snails. Just being in the same room as this vomit made me gag.

Alright, so after the first round of vomiting, I cleaned it up in relatively high spirits. Rosie went back to sleep and all was well, till a couple hours later she woke up again and there was more vomiting. This time, we were able to get half of it in the toilet, but there was still quite a bit of clean up for me. After I cleaned it up – through bleary blood-shot eyes – I sent Rosie back to bed, but my suspicions had been aroused.

"Was this an isolated incident? Was it the chicken?" I thought to myself.

Before returning to bed, I carpeted the room with our junk towels in case we had a repeat performance.

Later that night, before dawn broke, I heard a different child crying. I went to the kid's room and this time it was Simon who was throwing up. The throw up was identical to his sister's, and I strongly suspected food poisoning.

Saturday:

This round robin of vomit continued as the sun came up and well into the day. By this point, we were just feeding them water (a little at a time) and a little bit of rice porridge.



At this point, I was very tired, but still in high spirits. I had figured out a system where my kids laid on towels all day so if they every had to vomit, they could just vomit on the towel. I know people use bowls or trashcans or toilets, but it was too hard to get them to the toilet in time and I think their vomit aim was not good enough for a big bowl.

By the end of the day, Rosie was feeling better and I was optimistic, until she threw up again. Then AJ started feeling sick and laid on the couch looking pale and sweaty. He, however, never threw up. He channeled it downward, he said.

Sunday:

We all stayed home from church and the kids felt well enough to color and cause a mess.

Lots of toast and bananas and bland stuff.

I went to Publix looking like a mess to buy Gatorade and saltine crackers. "Everyone in my family is sick." I told the cashier. He looked at what I had bought and then back at me. "Well, they are all counting on you," he replied, "just make sure you don't get sick as well."

Choice last words.

Monday: 

By now the vomiting has slowed down, but it still hadn't gone away completely. Especially poor Simon, he couldn't keep anything down but he was so hungry and constantly begged for food, any food.

"Max and cheese!" he begged. "Milk!" he begged. "Fruit snacks!"
I was good and didn't feed him dairy, but there was still a lot of things his stomach couldn't even handle, like Saltine crackers. We had him on a diet of saltine crackers, rice, gatorade, and rice porridge.

Later that day, I feel really sick, like I can't even stand up. Then I give in and join the vomit club.

I think AJ went into work for a half day, or maybe not, but at the end of the day we are both really worried about Simon. He is super lethargic, crying a lot, sleeping a lot, wanting to be held all the time.

I called his pediatrician and she suggested he go to the emergency room. So we rush off to Wolfson Children's Hospital at the ripe ol' hour of 9 p.m. Simon sits limply on our lap as we wait in a crowded reception area. There are little kids and angry parents but there are loud groups of adults too. "What are they doing here?" I ask myself as their loud conversation drowns out Spongebob Squarepants on the TV.

When we got in to see the nurse, they gave him a little white pill (Zofran). Apparently Zofran is given out to those suffering from nausea because of chemotherapy or early pregnancy. It worked wonders on Simon, and half an hour after taking the pill, he was sipping Gatorade and munching happily on animal crackers like nothing had happened. When the doctor came in to see him, I felt a bit sheepish, like I was wasting their time with this seemingly okay boy. The doctor was very kind, and gave us some tips on what to watch out for. "Basically," he said in a calm, slightly drone-like voice, "if they are drinking and hydrated, it's not a big deal that they are throwing up. They can go a long time without eating without serious consequences. It's hydration that is the real worry."

When we got home, I felt really hopeful, like maybe we had turned a corner. We just needed to give him the anti-nausea medication every 8 hours for the next few days and it would be okay....

Tuesday: 

Early morning, Simon throws up again.

Wednesday: 

Simon is feeling well enough to eat popsicles and ride bikes. We are super prompt with his medication, fearing a small lapse will cause him to throw up.

Thursday: 

We are all feeling mostly better, though Simon has horrible diarrhea.

Friday: 

We think we're well enough to go down to Orlando to see AJ's parents for the weekend. We have Wendy's and set out for the two-hour drive. Half way down, Simon throws up all over himself. He ate a lot. We drive with the windows down even though we are going 70 on the freeway.

I had to clean this up with Wendy's napkins at a gas station. 

Simon throws up again when we arrive at his parent's house - but we blame it on the chocolate milk he drank. We only have 2 doses of pills left. It is super worrisome.

Saturday: 

We go to  Trail's End, an all-you-can eat Disney buffet. Simon hardly eats anything and lays down on his chair. We are getting worried about him again.

We call our pediatrician and ask if she can give us more anti-nausea medication. She suggests we go to the emergency room again. We aren't keen on the idea. The last emergency room visit cost $1088.40 which was adjusted down to $457, but we still have to pay that out of pocket. We buckle down and just hope Simon will be okay.

Later that night, Rosie comes into the guest room crying because Simon has thrown up all over her.

Sunday: 

AJ's dad goes in to work but feels so horrible that he just lies on the floor of his office. Later, as he tries to drive home, he throws up out the door of his car. Now we feel terrible, and we pack up to go home.

Later in the day, AJ's mom says she is feeling sick.

Okay, I'll end the timeline there because after that day, things slowly started to look up. But as you can see, it was a horrible, horrible week of vomit that slowly spread from Rosie, to Simon, to AJ, to me, to his dad, to his mom. I thought it was food poisoning at first, but with how long it stayed with us and with how it jumped from person to person, it was probably a bad virus.

So I'm hoping there are a lot of things you could learn from my experience, if not, hopefully it was entertaining.

Pink eye

Currently my family is battling pink-eye, so we are no stranger to the contagious diseases. I'm so sick of sickness, but I'm also numbed out to it and just hope that I can take it slow and let the disease run it's course.

Pink eye

Potty Training a Boy

Yesterday was my first official day in attempting to potty train Simon. He is a little past 2 and a half, and his bowel movements were getting gross to clean, so I thought it was time. He has good communication and reasoning skills (like his sister did when I trained her at 2 years) but he is A BOY and I heard boys are harder to train. I was itching to prove that theory wrong....



I started the potty training right after we dropped his big sister off at preschool. I found his, "Once Upon a Potty" book, sat him down and read it to him, took off his diaper, put on his new P.J. Masks underwear. I showed him his potty seat (no way was I going to relive cleaning out a little kid potty), and showed him how to climb up and sit on it. I showed him the jar full of Pez (his favorite candy) and told him that he will get one once he pees in the potty. Then I gave him a juice carton and waited for the chaos to ensue.

The first few accidents were cute. They were little dribbles here and there, not like the huge puddles his sister used to make. After each accident, I'd run him to the potty to see if there was anymore. We'd wait a long time, maybe 20 minutes, then get off again. Then within 5 minutes of getting up, he'd have another accident. I tried to calculate in my head, "Does that mean if we had waited for 5 more minutes, he would have peed in the potty? Or did he not pee in the 20 minutes because he was sitting on the potty?" Mind games.

Mid-day, I was frustrated. We had successfully wet 7 underwear and 7 pants - all of them in a pile in the tub, and he had gone a couple times successfully in the morning but it seemed to be completely by accident. It was like this boy had no on/off switch. He would just go whenever there was a tablespoon of pee. So while it wasn't very much, it was near constant. The one thing he did learn, however, is he'd tell me, "pee pee!" as he was peeing. At times I tried to soothe myself by saying today was just a day to learn what pee pee felt like. At other times, I felt exhausted and darkly depressed.

After we ran out of underwear, I just let him run around naked. At this point, he was getting the process of climbing up on the potty and sitting down. In fact, he thought it was a game and would tell me he needed to go, then sit down for one second and say, "let's try tomorrow." He did this so many times, it was like the boy who cried, "wolf." At dinner, he did this enough that I said, "Okay, you go yourself if you really need to pee pee."

He went off to the bathroom himself, and because he was without pants, he didn't really need me. Two minutes later, he came back with a big grin on his face. "I did it! I went pee pee." Incredulous, I peeked into toilet and saw little pee droplets on the splash guard of the potty seat. It was a miracle! Of course I showered him with praises and Pez and with a new understanding of how this boy, MY BOY learned things. He needed lots of mechanical practice - the act of getting on the potty, and he needed it over and over again. He also needed some space as well. All the while I was watching him and coaching him turned into hilarious but ineffective breathing exercises. He succeeded when I was too tired to care and let him handle it on his own.

I know it's a long road to potty independence, but I'm hopeful. Today marks Day 2 in the potty training adventure, and he has gone pee in the potty 4 times (1 time was poop) – all of those he initiated the potty trip, and had 1 accident. Not too bad!

Who knows, tomorrow I may be eating my words...

Update: It's been one week since our potty adventures have started and I am very happy! He's had a couple accident free days (which included staying dry at night) and he is very consistent in telling me he needs to go to the bathroom. I think that is the biggest hurdle - getting him to tell me when he needs to go BEFOREHAND. The best part of it all, I don't have to clean up log-like poop anymore!

So in the end, was the theory that boys are harder to train a faulty one? I'm not sure, because I waited longer to start with Simon, but overall, for me it was a smoother experience. I understand potty training is different for everyone, boy, girl, 2 or 3 or 4 or more. I'm just glad I didn't give up that first day, or the next, or the next.

Read about my experience potty training a girl. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.