While normal women have fears that accompany pregnancy about normal issues – like health and diseases and stress and nutrition, I’m looking for some additional bedding.  That, right there?  That means I’m most definitely weird.  Because, while other pregnant women are marking in their journals how much protein and vitamin A they got today, I’m hoping my prenatal vitamin is picking up any slack I leave – Hell, it better for what each pill costs, which might be why my brain sometimes forgets about them…I try to save money, even subconsciously.  And, while they worry about very legitimate issues and facts and figures, I’m worrying about things like the steadily increasing pressure on my bladder and whether the mattress protector will fit this bed or not.

Yes, I’m worrying about the new nightmares which will most likely at some point involve a few peeing scenes and whether or not my bladder, in its weakened state, will know that I am not in fact sitting over the toilet.  I wonder if my brain will wake up or if this child of mine will be getting laughs at my expense.  Yes, that’s what I’m worried about.

Last pregnancy, my husband allowed me to indulge in the plastic cover that …well, sounds like plastic…with every move you make because my fears are strong enough that he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would duct tape a plastic tarp under the fitted sheet while he was at work if left to my own devices.  Sometimes, it’s just best not to fight with a strong-willed pregnant lady…especially when the pregnancy has nothing at all to do with her stubbornness, because you will never talk her down.

Other fears haunt the back of my mind – things like looking like the Michelin man, weird defects, and the other horror stories that people find fitting to tell me NOW that I’m pregnant.  For the most part, though, I can keep those fairly reined in and in the dark.  All of them except for the labor fears.

Only 20 minutes away, lies a lovely hospital and all of it’s hospitalishness.  This hospital features a roof, floors, and even the occasional IV bag and wheelchair.  Unfortunately, what they don’t possess is a maternity ward.  If by some poor luck you happen upon them in the midst of hard labor, you may or may not get a curtained section to scream bloody murder right before they ship you and your placenta off via ambulance to a totally different hospital, somewhere else.

Approximately 30 minutes in a totally different direction, stands a second hospital – a hospital proclaimed among the greatest (even if only by its own PR firm).  Innocently enough, it seems until you walk into the labor section where nurses await you with their tautly pulled white gloves and hideous smirks…just waiting to make you pay.  Pay for what, exactly…I’m not sure.  After being examined a bit too rigorously and then strapped down to machines for 4 hours with no explanation, I decided to let myself out – no questions asked.

Then, there’s another hospital…slightly farther away, but the fact that it’s nicknamed the “Pine Box” would make anyone slightly leery, including me.

Lastly, are two choices – each about 50 minutes to an hour away.  Although, I’m willing to bet that if you drive while in labor, you might get there much faster…and with a police escort, no less!  Here’s where my fear comes in: going into hard labor and possibly birthing a child on my own, en route. This fear would probably be enough to drive a woman such as myself over the brink, WITHOUT the consideration of dealing with complications that could arise …by myself.

And, that’s how I landed on the thought of hiring a doula to assist me.

My last labor was eh…induced.  I’m one of THOSE women – aka scared shit-less that her doctor would leave for vacation the day before I go into labor (and, she was going on vacation soon), scared the baby would reach 10 lbs and have a head the size of …well…the size of my husband’s head as it tried to push through and out, scared that I would lose it all and not know what and how to do and when…and scared to be trapped in a rough SUV drive 50 minutes away as I tried not to rip my husband’s eyebrows off because he was driving not fast enough as we dangerously tear through the street signs.  Ahhh yes.  But, this time…I don’t want the induction or the epidural.  On the flip side – after talking to a few VERY passionate ladies who are very much PRO homebirthing (or should I say, ANTI hospital, for this group), I also decided that I would not feel comfortable delivering this child of mine in my own home…at least not more than 5 minutes away from a hospital.  And, despite their attempts to persuade me, I can’t even fathom renting a hotel room to deliver in.  I’m thinking they could try to sue me on that, actually.

THIS time, I’m thinking I might want a doula.  Someone who will come to me, wherever I am the moment my contractions get semi consistent.  Someone who will know the stages of labor and be able to help me through them, regardless if a minor complication occurs.  Someone who will sit in the backseat with me and keep me from kicking my husband’s seat in and wrecking us all every time a major contraction hits.  And, someone who could catch the baby and deal with minor complications should they occur…in a car…(or anywhere else Dr. Seuss could’ve dreamed up).  Unfortunately, this peace of mind also costs up to 500/600 dollars and I need to be “hiring” one of the two doulas in the area if I’m going to.  Unfortunately, while I can appreciate that this isn’t a hefty price tag to ask, considering what they may have to do and the knowledge they bring, I’m also not sure if we can pull that off.  So, for now…I’m looking for a rain slicker for our bed as I peruse “Natural Childbirthing ” books because they’re the only ones that don’t assume you need to know nothing more once you get to the Labor and Delivery Room.

Welcome back!

What You’ll Need:

Stamps and Ink and/or markers
A Candle (your choice of color), although I recommend white for beginners
Wax Paper
Tissue Paper in the same color of the candle
A Hair Dryer or Embossing Gun
Ribbon or embellishments (if you want).
Scrap paper or something else you don’t mind getting marks on (the ink will bleed through the tissue paper)
Scissors

Cut a strip of tissue paper approximately as wide as your candle is tall.  Stamp or draw your design on the tissue paper, remembering to have a “scrap” layer underneath so your dining room table will show no proof of this craft.

Using scissors, cut around the design, getting rid of some of the “blank” excess paper that wasn’t stamped on.  –Don’t worry, you don’t have to cut really close to the design, but if there’s lots of extra space on the back or other areas, you won’t really need that tissue paper.

Place the tissue paper over the candle as you want the design.  Carefully layer the wax paper over the tissue paper (wax side down) and pull tightly behind the candle.  –This well help keep your hands from getting burnt, as well keep your design in place.  It also keeps the wax from getting all wonky when you start heating it up.

Using your embossing heat tool or hairdryer, heat the design up.  You’ll want to keep it close to the surface, and move to another area once you see the tissue paper change color (where it’s flattening and embedding itself in the wax).  Once your design is melted into the candle, carefully peel the wax paper off.

Now, you’re all finished unless you want to add an embellishment like a ribbon or charm or what-nots.

These are great as gifts or for your own decor!

*NOTE:  This is the unfinished wreath, feel free to glue fun glittery things to it, faux flowers, painted wooden things, or whatever your heart desires.  Even a bow.

You’ll need:

A wire coathanger
Either a pair of pliers (simply to twist and untwist the coathanger)
Fabric scraps in your choice of colors

Untwist the coathanger and straighten it out as much as you can, or you can go ahead and skip that and go straight to making into a circle, using your very strong hands or pliers to smooth out any bumps.  Next, use your very strong hands or the pliers to rewind the ends of the coathanger around each other, forming a circle that won’t poke your eye out.

Cut your scrap fabric (I used some old flannel pjs) into approximately 1″x5″ (or 7″, depending on how long you want it).  To give you an idea, the bottom of the wreath is a bit longer…approximately 7″, whereas the top is mostly 5-6″.  See the difference?  Choose whichever you like and go with it.  Cut the strips, and don’t worry about being perfect.  Start tying them around the coathanger, as closely or spaced as you like and just keep going until you like it.

Next up?  Make it even prettier with some hot glue and your choice of embellishments.

Start to finish time with no interruptions for what you see above (without the added embellishments): About 1 hour – Would’ve been a lot quicker if I could’ve pawned the “really strong hands” part off on my husband…or, if you set up a “line” with someone cutting while the other ties.

These are pretty spiffy when you start playing around with different colors, patterns, types of fabrics/ribbons, embellishments, and thickness.  You could make them for any holiday you can dream up!

*NOTE:  You may want to keep in mind these are made of fabric, so dust may find them easily.  IF you plan to leave yours out year-round, you may want to choose a fabric that is less “catchy” when it comes to letting dust cling.  You know?

Parts: one, two, three, four

“Hello?” her mother answered the phone, her voice groggy and full of sleep.

“Mom,” she began, gasping for the breath and courage to betray herself the rest, “I had sex. I’m bleeding. I have to go to the hospital.”

She’d said it quickly and without taking a breath, for she knew if she waited for even a moment she’d change her mind again. She waited for a few tortuous moments as she heard her father mumble in the background, asking who was on the other line, and as her mother answered him in hushed tones.

“We’ll meet you there,” her mother said before reminding her which hospital their insurance would cover.

***

She could hear the sound her shoes made against the hospital’s floor as she looked around the empty room, searching for a helpful face.  Her mouth twisted into a strange grin as a cackle escaped from her lips, “Figures,” she mumbled to no one in particular.  Her footsteps grew quieter, or perhaps it was just that her concentration had shifted, as she began to make her way around the winding passages to find someone working.

Finally, she found a nurse.

“Um, excuse me…well….I had sex…and, I’m bleeding.  They told me to come to the ER?”  She said, almost hesitantly, very unsure of herself.

“Who told you to come to the Emergency Room?”  The nurse countered with an odd look on her face.

“The…well, I’m not sure.  I called and they said this wasn’t normal…”

“Whatever.  Take a seat.  You’ll have to fill out some paperwork.”

“Well…okay,” she said, and then hesitated “but, it is a lot of blood…”

The nurse walked away, as if she’d never really heard and the girl sat there, wondering if it’d been a mistake once again.

***

She had finally showed them the blood, and it was then that they took her seriously as she was given a bed to lay down on because her legs had begun to betray her.  They wheeled her back as her head floated in and out of consciousness.  The lights blurred by and she could make out the voices of someone else chastising the nurse who had all but welcomed her to this hospital tonight.  She could hear the nurses arguing with the doctor on-call about whether or not she should have the transfusion, and then she heard the silence of their resignation as they did what they were told.  She heard a voice saying “She’s back here…” and she heard the muffled footsteps approaching.  She cracked open her eyelids, and positioned her elbow just so to prop herself – but, the swarm in her head forced her back to the pillow, where she focused her attention to the two people standing before her: Her parents.  Her mother’s blue eyes were cold and the rims of her eyes were a bit rosier than usual – she couldn’t really tell if it was just from being woken up in the middle of the night or if she’d actually been crying.  Her father…well, her father refused to look at her.  “Mom?  Dad?…” She started, then let her words trail off, understanding in that moment that he wouldn’t be looking at her, no matter what she said.

She resigned as tears flooded her eyes, but refused to let them escape until the nurses had wheeled her off and away from them for the surgery that would stop the bleeding.  “It was a mistake.  I want to go home, now.  I changed my mind.  I shouldn’t have come.  He hates me!”  She cried.  The nurses tried to shush her as they brought the mask of magical gas down over her face as they’d promised to do before inserting the IV.  “I told you, he hates me!  I don’t care anymore!”  She sputtered again, wishing that the downcast eyes and disapproval from her father had been saved for when her eyes had been sealed shut by death itself, wishing she’d just went back to bed to wait.

Learning to swaddle is an essential parenting technique that every parent must master if they ever expect to get a wink of sleep! Enter aden and anais, designer of muslin wraps for swaddling. I never really considered that what TYPE of blanket I was swaddling my precious bundle of joy in could make a difference…but why not?

Muslin has a light, open weave that allows air to flow seamlessly through the material. The soft natural fibers allow your baby’s body temperature to adjust naturally, eliminating over-heating, but ensuring warmth and comfort. aden + anais wraps will allow you to safely swaddle your baby, giving you confidence that your baby will experience a peaceful and secure sleep.

And some other smart uses for them? Double it up and use it as an extra large burp cloth… Drape it over a stroller to shade your baby and protect against insects (while still allowing the fresh air IN)…Or shield you and your baby while nursing in public (especially great when it’s warm out, allowing the cool breeze to come through).

I just received mine, and am just so amazed. The muslin wrap can be used to swaddle, or as a regular blanket. I love that it comes in many cute prints and is incredibly affordable! This item most definitely makes it to the top of my MUST HAVES list.

Congratulations aden + anais on a wonderful product. Thank you for sharing it with us.

The icy chill of the wind cuts through my jacket as I make my way up the driveway, past the decorated lighted figures we carefully placed on the lawn for the holidays.  A score of carefully arranged extension cords lay invisible in the night, just waiting for me to take a “shortcut” through the lawn and then onto my face.  I take the sidewalk instead.  I feel a mixture of emotions bubbling inside me, and for once in my life, I’m utterly confused.

This year, the majority of our house remains unlit by busy strands of Christmas lights, despite how much we enjoy them.  Truth be told, time caught up with us much faster than we anticipated, and we decided to not let ourselves become stressed and to just do a few things.  After all, this should be a happy time, and in some ways – it is.  But, in some ways, it’s one of the scariest times of my life.  It marks a few sets of crossroads for me, crossroads that are huge – looming before me like large cliffs over rapid icy waters.  And, I’m freaking out.

Our Christmas tree finally went up, yesterday – although only a few strands of lights are twined around it’s plastic branches.  The box of hand-me down ornaments lays untouched in the corner.  Three strands of Christmas lights lay in the corner, only partially lighting up giving way to dull bulbs on the rest of their strands.  These strands will be used for other decorations, carefully placed so the burnt bulbs aren’t noticeable.  A small cardboard box houses the other hand-me-down decorations, the ones we will turn this way or that so you can’t see the chips or broken edges from their previous owners.  In a way, these decorations could be said to represent me, and the emotions I feel inside.

On the outside, I smile and I wear nice clothes that have been collected over the past … 8 years.  But, if you look closely enough, you’ll see more.  You’ll see the broken corners, you’ll see the chips, and you’ll see the crack in the show I put on.  You may even really see me, who I am when I quit pretending that everything is okay.  I pretend like I still have dreams, like we may actually be able to afford to take a family trip, like I may get my happily ever after, and like everything is going to be just fine.  I pretend like we’re a happy family, and like buying those two Christmas gifts we just laid under the tree for the game we’ll play later didn’t just cost us a week’s worth of food.  I’ll hide the cringe I feel when someone makes a comment regarding the vast amount of toys my beautiful child will have lying under her own Christmas tree this year, and instead I’ll just smile.  I’ll tell you that I’ve not been “up to much,” because it’s much easier to explain away than telling you that really what I do all day is take care of our daughter and try to figure out ways to keep from losing everything as I fight the creditors off my back…single handedly.  I’ll not mention to you once how my life seems to be unraveling in more ways than one, and instead I’ll just tell you about stupid trivial things until your eyes glaze over and you get bored.  Then, I’ll let you talk more about yourself.  I’ll pretend like I’m comfortable while you sit there and complain about how broke you are as you switch on your Wiis and talk about upcoming trips and the new electronic things you just bought.  I’ll pretend like I understand you and how HORRIBLE it must be for you because you can’t afford to buy the newest, the latest, and the greatest and then I won’t tell you about how my Grams just slipped me a twenty so I could buy some groceries, or how my parents love me enough to buy extra groceries when they shop just so they don’t have to see me bow my head down, looking at the floor and admit that we’re struggling hard.  Again.  And, I’ll keep pretending, keep smiling – knowing that when I get home I can bury myself between the sheets and let go for a little while.

I pretend what I do because I know it will make others uncomfortable.  It will make them look at the true meaning of Christmas – past the shiny plastic and wrapping paper, and past the brand new shit you’re all playing with, and past the scrumptious cookies in your hands.  It’ll make you look at the millions of people who have it so much worse than you do, and yet they don’t even carry your bullshit “Bah Humbug” attitude, because they are thankful for what they DO HAVE.  It doesn’t matter that they don’t have a new Wii this year, it doesn’t matter that they can’t give to TOYS FOR TOTS despite your numerous braggings of yourself and that THEIR child will have TWO gifts under the Christmas tree this year – neither of which are shiny or new.  It doesn’t matter that they have no security in knowing what tomorrow will bring, because today?  Today, they are warm, have food in their bellies, and have a roof to sleep under.  And, they’re thankful.  Well, some of us do (and are).

I touch the brick as I walk up the steps of our front porch, and walk into the home we’ve made here.  I look at the walls I painted, and the stripes beneath the chair railing that I painstakingly drew.  I watch my daughter as she dances around the Christmas tree with a flashlight, and I smile.  I smile because I’m thankful for the things we do have – but, on the inside, I’m still scared no matter how thankful I am, because I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to walk through this yard, through this living room and call it mine.  I don’t know much of anything anymore, actually – and it scares the crap out of me.

And, this is how it comes to be – a person so thankful for the family, friends, and blessings she’s been blessed with, yet scared out of her wits for the changes that will inevitably come.  So thankful for the people who see her, and spot the fears and emotions in her eyes and quietly but surely show that they care.  So thankful for the people who have never made her say it outloud because they know it kills her to do so, and it means that in that moment, she can’t even pretend with herself that she believes everything will be okay.  So thankful for the friends who have proved themselves to be real friends, whether close or so far away.  So thankful for the small breaks she’s being given, here and there…just to keep this facade going…because some day, she really believes deep down that this will turn out okay.  Because despite the job that promised twice the pay and didn’t deliver, despite the circumstances that almost tore her away from her family to live many miles away, despite the lies that were fed to her on a daily basis from the one person she’d given her all to, despite the people who pretended to care but never reached out one way or another…she still believes.  She believes that one day, the good in others will overtake the bad, and that the sacrifices she and her family has made to stay here will pay off before they lose it all.  She believes that people like her closest friends and family (and even some almost-strangers) will help her make it with the smallest of things, until things smooth themselves out – although she has no idea when that will be.

And then, I’ll wipe away the single tear that escaped the defenses I’ve set in place, and put on yet another smile.  It’s time to pretend again.

I think I really like this dermatologist.  SHE actually called me, and not some nurse or front desk person who knew nothing more than the original message (I tend to ask questions, as I’m thorough and possibly quite annoying like that).  She hadn’t gotten the test results back yet, but she wanted to let me know that when I was in her office the other day, she had mentioned the correct name of a condition I may or may not have, but had been thinking of something else in regards to how serious it could be.  So, she wanted to call me to prepare me, I guess you could say, for the offhand chance that if it does come back as positive (the tests), it may be a bit more dangerous than she’d originally explained.

Of course, I’d already read and printed out a medical journal article on the condition, so I knew all of this already.  But, still the fact she actually called?  That’s awesome to me.  Most people would just let it go and then pretend you were the stupid patient that misheard.  But, she wanted to make sure I was educated.  And, that is something I definitely appreciate.

She also asked how the cream was working, she didn’t want me to be miserable and was wondering if I need something else.  (Cool, right?)

Anyways, the cream has mostly cleared up the rash.  It’s faint in some areas but nothing more than just a bit here and there.  And, the itchiness?  It’s still there, but much more subdued.  It went from CRAZY itching to just itching.  I can mostly ignore “just itching.”  The cream is really greasy feeling, though, so after 3 doses of it I’m trying to go with just thick lotion for sensitive skin tonight.  Tomorrow, I may use more of the steroid cream if I get too itchy, but quite frankly it kind of creeps me out.  I KNOW the stuff is being absorbed into my body, and most likely the baby AND I wonder how much gets transferred to Lorelei when I hold her and pick her up?  I’ve been keeping her in long sleeves and long pants and me in short sleeves/long pants just in case…but I’m still leery.  Of course, I’ll treat it if it gets any worse, but right now it’s not killing me.

So, those are the updates.  Still not sure WHAT it is, but we have a few ideas of what it may or may not be –ideas we BOTH arrived at, independently…

1. Cholestasis.  This is the worst one, the scariest one.  USUALLY it occurs in the 3rd trimester and everything else depends on the person.  ALTHOUGH, usually isn’t always and I did match up with many of the other symptoms.  Problems that occur with this are things like hemorrhaging of mom and baby, stillbirth, premature labor, and all sorts of things with fetal health.  ***I’m assuming I don’t have this until the blood tests come back.  There’s a chance, but it’s very slim – and mostly, I’m happy that we’re doing the blood tests to hopefully rule it out.

2.  PUPS.  I don’t think this one is that big of a deal.  But, I don’t remember.

3.  Pregnancy induced eczema or pregnancy induced someotherkindofskinproblemIwouldn’tnormallyhave.

4.  Or…something totally unrelated to pregnancy that we don’t know yet.

Actually, she added number 4, and I agree with all but that one.  I had this rash LAST pregnancy too and around the same time, so I’m fairly certain it’s pregnancy related.

But, we’ll know soon – and in the meantime I’m pretty comfortable, so I’m happy :0)

Shoe size?  A 4 or 4.5 (if they made 1/2s for her age)

Weight?  20 lbs on OUR home scale, which may be a few lbs off (as in, add a few lbs).  PS – we like our scale as it is.

How many teeth?  Look for yourself.  We don’t really wish to stick our hands in there, thanks.

Height?  This high.

Favorite drink?  “Juice” – but we call everything juice.  Her FAVORITE is pretty much any kind of fruit juice (watered down).

Favorite Food?  Macaroni and cheese, pizza rolls, breads and rolls, cheeseburgers (but they can’t have anything hanging off or she picks it off and makes you eat it), blueberries, blackberries, raspberries, bananas, and pasta

Biggest hurdle right now?  The “fussy tantrums” that come and go – and, we’re not really sure what causes them unless it’s just the age/stage she’s in.  As far as tantrums go, these are pretty light.

Soon, we’ll have to face your car seat forward, but I’m trying to buy as much time as I can.  Like me, you weigh less than “normal” for your age group – you’re just naturally small.  And while others have been pressuring me to make the change NOW (as of a couple of months ago), I’m not really ready.  I don’t feel the rush because I know you are ultimately safer where you are – although it will have to be soon since your feet are beginning to touch the back of the seat.

You adapt really well to social changes and I love watching and observing you – whether you’re playing solo or with others.  You adore other children and have even began using the word “kid” (with the d dropped off) to describe non-babies.  In your world, anyone under 12 is a “baby” and you wouldn’t have it any other way.  You love “babies.”  You still take time to warm up to adults you don’t really know (which could be a good thing), but will jump in with playing with other kids.  While playing, you seem so very focused on making your playmate happy, giving him or her whatever toys you can find, even if it means you don’t really get to play with them.  And, when it comes to PDA with the other kids, you don’t hold back.  Hugs and kisses and holding hands isn’t something you have to think twice about, even if they are a little less than willing to hold your hand back.

Your imagination inspires me.  Since you were 6 months old, your imagination has been brilliant.  At 6 months, we taught you about “Peter Pan food (imaginary food)” to keep you quiet during church, and you would pretend to feed us and yourself this delicacy.  Now, you pretend to fly, bending your elbows and “soaring.”  You pretend to drive cars, whether it’s a grown up car and your in someone’s lap at the steering wheel in the parking lot or you’re playing with your toy car, making all of the car noises as it drives.  You still love peter pan food, and have even adopted invisible body care and styling products.  A tube or bottle of anything can immediately become a bottle of drink-stuff, shampoo, body lotion, soap, or hair gel – and you don’t mind sharing that either.  And, sometimes it’s like you hear music that nobody else can and you just cant help but break out in dance and/or song.  Like today as we showered, and I bent down to give you eskimo kisses, but instead you picked up both of my hands and proceeded to dance.  So, together we danced in the shower and together, we sang songs and then clapped for ourselves at the end.

You’ve gotten really good at sticking up for yourself, too.  Sometimes the new puppy really frustrates you, and you lose your cool and freak out a bit, but for the most part you will put your “mad” face on and say “No no no!”  You are like my little puppy police, my extra set of eyes always watching should Chance try to sneak off with a shoe or grab something out of the laundry basket to chew and make holey.  You’ve gotten the courage to walk up to him and take whatever it is away swiftly, and generally without him knowing what just happened.

Right now, we’re trying to teach you about emotions.  I know that this is a really difficult time and stage because you feel so many things, and words fail you.  We’re trying to teach you to breathe and concentrate through things (like when we tell you to “work it out” and those words help you focus), and we’re trying to teach you to identify different emotions.  So far, we’ve practiced the “mad face,” “sad face,” and “crazy face.”  Your mad face is mostly a glare and technically you really only use it when you’re trying to make us laugh.  Your sad face will most likely win you whatever you want from your father, you totally have him wrapped around your pinky finger.  And, the crazy face?  That’s just what mommy looks like by the end of the day.  You might be able to talk yourself out of a few meetings when you’re older with that face, though.  You know how to associate those faces with the words “mad, crazy, and sad” and we try to help label your feelings as you have them.  You don’t completely *get* it, right now, but you’re not even 2 yet and most adults can’t even identify their feelings so it’s really not a big deal.

You’re really big into copying everything right now, too.  If I’m reading, you want to read.  If I’m doing crafts, you want to help.  If we’re cooking, you want to either eat or help cook.  Unfortunately you still lack the skills to do exactly what we are doing most of the time, but you seem pretty happy with the simplified versions that we introduce you to.  You seem to also have a long attention span when you’re really interested in something and nobody is calling you away.

You like affection, and you seem pretty confident in knowing that it’s here whenever you need it.  Sometimes you’ll give kisses and hugs because we ask for them, or you sense we need them, and other times you would rather run around the room than be tied down to one spot for more than a moment.  Yelling and raising of voices seems to make you nervous.  You are used to stern “no’s,” but when someone raises their voice to you repeatedly, you get agitated and it’s like you have a bit of a freak out.  You no longer know what to do and it takes a while to calm you down.

As much as you adore getting dirty and playing with things like paint, markers, play dough, etc – you HATE having things on your hands when you decide you’re done.  We’ve always offered a clean towel to you to wipe your hands and mouth on whie eating, but I’m not sure if we taught you this or if this is just you.  You show us your fingers and hands when a piece of banana that you peeled sticks to you or when there’s leftover mac and cheese goo on your hands, and we have about .5 seconds to help you remove it or you whine.  Actually, you’ll try to get it off yourself first if we have a towel around, but if not you’ll ask us to help.

You’re still fairly obsessed with shoes, no matter the style or size.  You adore shoes and you own more than I do.  A couple of days ago, as you sat with nothing more than a shirt on during a diaper changing, you requested that your black maryjanes be put on.  You love them that much…shoes in general, that is.

You’ve also gotten somewhat used to only getting your blankie during naptime and bedtime which has dramatically reduced the amount of time you suck your thumb.  You have begun asking for toys to go into bed with you, though.  Generally, you want a book (we allow you the ones with real pages, now), a doll, and one other type of toy.  One week, you would get upset if the shape sorting toy didn’t go EVERYWHERE you went.  It’s like you were intent on figuring that thing out, although it’s kind of above your age level, and may take a while longer.

Speaking of toys, you’re currently working on throwing balls.  Unfortunately, your father kind of taught you to throw other types of toys by accident, and we are trying to unlearn you of that one.  So, we’re trying to teach you to throw balls TO people and not at them…and to throw in front of you rather than behind.  Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t…but it’s always fun to watch you try.   Also, you’ve finally figured the crayon thing out…you finally learned how to apply enough pressure to make them noticeable.  Stickers are still a favorite with you, you love sticking them all over the place.

What else?  Bath time has gone back to us having to apply the body wash (diluted) to you, otherwise you tend to try to wash your face and apparently an eyeful of organic body wash is a bit painful.  Yet, you do it every time.   You also have a thing for novel-sized books.  You have no clue what they say (that’s just me guessing), but you LOVE holding them open and “reading” to yourself.  Sometimes you actually will throw down an age appropriate colorful picture book for a novel with nothing but text.  It’s weird but endearing.

1. Sometimes, I misspell my name when typing: Ashely. Because I’m cool like that.

2. I say what I mean and mean what I say. Recently, my grandfather was baptized and my extremely talented cousin (who is also very humble) played the piano during part. Afterwards, I told him he did a fantastic job and his response was something like, “Thanks, even though you’re lying.” I looked at him evenly and responded, “You should know better. I don’t lie to make other people feel good.” He said something like “I should’ve known,” which kind of makes me think I should’ve reworded what I said, although it’s very true. You see, I HATE lying – it makes me feel crummy, makes others feel crummy, and it generally serves no purpose. There are a few lies I’ll tell, things that have to do with Christmas traditions, Easter traditions, and the such – although if my kid ever asks me straight up, I’ll tell the truth. If YOUR kid asked me, though, I’ll pretend to have a sudden migraine and tell them to ask you. But, seriously – I’ve become pretty good about deflecting questions like “Does my (80s) haircut look cute?” or “Does my butt look too big?” or “Do my teeth look funny to you?” because while I don’t want to lie to you, I really don’t see any good coming from saying anything that would hurt your feelings, either. ESPECIALLY when I know you’re looking for reassurance and not my honesty…so I deflect. I change subjects. I compliment something else. But, when it comes to serious issues, I tell you what I think and hope that I won’t lose a friend. I say what I say with respect and I say it in a way that’s as nice as I can, but sometimes the truth sucks anyhow. Then again, sometimes it’s just what you needed. So, if I tell you I love you, your hair looks cute, or I tell you I would jump on a plane and fly around the world for you – believe it.

3. As much as I make jokes like, “Does this look like a petting zoo? Right. Now, get your hand off my belly,” I really DON’T mind people that I know (and like) touching my stomach (when they ask). I think it’s almost sweet in a slightly creepy way. But, if I find you annoying and I don’t know you from Adam, I really want to do something mean like reach out to feel yours, regardless whether or not you’re pregnant.

4. I have a weird sense of humor – or, so they tell me. I still think setting off all of the alarm clocks in Walmart is amusing, as is pretending to be a mannequin in a store window while posing in really awfully odd poses. That, and I like pranks. Pranks are fun.

5. You know when your hair falls out in the shower? No, that only happens to me? Right, well sometimes I collect it on the shower wall and wait til I get out to scoop it off with some toilet tissue. Otherwise, it just gets tangled on my fingers and I can’t get it off. I’m outing myself.

6. I love organization and yet am the most messy person EVER. Okay, I hate dirty stuff in the house (dirty dishes, dirty floors, etc), but piles of stuff like books ALWAYS happens here. Actually, so does the dirty dishes part and dirty floors – but, that’s not entirely my fault and we can go back to that later (or never). I’m blaming the lack of organization on the lack of money to buy organizational stuff that looks good. For example, I JUST got a bedside table for my side of the bed. JUST. And, other than 2 bedside tables, we only have our closets to store things in our room. I seriously need like about 500 bucks to blow at IKEA so I can get some organizational stuff for the bajillions of books and craft supplies.

7. I don’t *do* cutesy figurines. Unless it’s around a holiday and I put it out as decoration, but mostly we don’t *do* cute figurines. We have a few things in each room that are placed specifically and then, that’s it. Fortunately my husband subscribes to this idea as well. Unfortunately, this doesn’t really remedy our whole lack of space for things issue…although you think it’d help. It doesn’t.

8. I’m so far away from Martha Stewart, it’s not even funny. I can and do cook and clean, although I’ve not been doing much of either ever since I got pregnant and was overcome by some sort of plague. But, technically I can do both. So can my husband. And, in a perfect world, we’d rather hire someone to do both. Ahhh if only we had that much disposable income. Hell, if only we had ANY disposable income.

9. Despite some of the most recent posts, my life really isn’t all doom and gloom. I swear. Things go up, and things come down – but, in general I prefer to see the light in even the worst situations…even if I do need to throw a fit at first.

10. I’m a closet princess. Seriously. My husband even bought me a tiara (which is in my closet) because he agrees (on my awesomeness). We’re both waiting for the “help” to arrive, and for someone else to clean up this dang mess.

This past week – like, RIGHT after I posted at the end of my 18th week, we felt more than just a baby flutter, but a real kick.  And, Steven felt it too.  So, we can officially feel baby kicks and headbutts and such.

I’ve still been itchy and rashy, which isn’t really NEW – but, I did finally go to the doctor yesterday because it was getting to be a bit much (backtrack to yesterday’s post for more info about why).  Anyhow, my doctor pretty much looked at me, drew some blood, and found the baby’s heartbeat (and measured it) and then promptly told me to head over to the dermatologist (who she’d already called for me and they were waiting) because she’s “no good with rashes.”  I appreciated that.  I like people who aren’t afraid to admit that they aren’t know-it-alls and sometimes don’t know what to do and THEN they point you to someone who does (or figure it out).  Plus, she got me an appt for RIGHT THEN, so I wouldn’t have to make any phone calls or more trips.  Yay.

Before I left her office, I handed her some of the research I’d done online.  I had printed out an article from a medical journal and handed that to her, asking if she’d heard of it and if I seemed to match up.  She waved it off, saying it was probably nothing bad like that.  And, as grateful as I am for her positivity, I knew she wasn’t really sure.

So, I headed over to the dermatologist and kept my mouth shut about anything I’d researched and just let them ask me their questions and then practically flashed them all because they wanted to see ALL of the rashes.  And, they did.  And, since I’d just had blood drawn (from the most fantastic nurse EVER, because I never feel hardly anything), they were able to tack their labs onto that sample, rather than poke me again.  I was grateful…again.  The dermatologist shot me out a prescription for some steroid cream which is supposed to be safe for pregnancy (although the drugstore inserts always like to scare the bejeebus out of me).  I’m supposed to use this cream on my entire body where the rashes and itching occurs twice a day, and then come back in a week as we wait for my blood tests.  I really did try to get out of the follow up visit, but she was pretty much adamant.  They’re worried enough that they want to track the rashes – she wants to know if they disappear but I still have other symptoms, if they move at all, get bigger, get darker, change designs, etc.  So, I’ll be making that other trip into town (we country folk must drive an hour out to see our doctors, and *I* don’t have a car, making these trips a little bit of a pain in my ass…although sometimes necessary.)

So far, the dermatologist isn’t really sure WHAT it is that I have.  Whatever it is, it’s not a “classic representation” of anything.  As she looked over the rashes, she kept saying “There are tons of rashes that come with normal pregnancy, and this looks like none of them.  Cholestasis usually occurs later in pregnancy, so this wouldn’t be a classic case, but we should test anyhow since you match the symptoms and you don’t have to be a classic case to get it…”  Smiling, I reminded her that NONE of my pregnancy was really “classic.”

She’s going to test for the really bad stuff, as well as some other random things, and while I am hoping it’s not the bad stuff, it would be nice to know WHY so we would know HOW to fix it.  I tend to like to know when my body is acting kooky so I can fix the source, call me crazy.

Moods.  My moods have been a roller coaster lately, but most of that is not pregnancy-related, except for when I start crying because they killed a baby or kid in a movie.  Or, a dog.  Or, cow.  Or, when someone tells me detailed stories of a deer getting hit (thanks, mom) – that makes me cry.  But, besides all that…

Eating.  I’m definitely eating and getting some cravings.  Like Red’s donuts (no other kind will suffice).  And, like jalapeno poppers.  Of course, I give in to them because I figure that if I don’t, I’ll eat worse stuff just trying to make them go away, and in the end eat it anyhow.  And, also – because it MUST mean my body is deficient of something, right?  And, I can’t deprive the baby or it’s nutrient source (me) of things like grease and sugar and empty calories, now can I?  No, I cannot.

Nightmares.  I think I wrote about this last week, but I’m too lazy to go see.  Still having nightmares.  And, about the weirdest stuff.  Seriously, I am dreaming about the most whacked out crap.  Want to know my last nightmare before  I woke up?  My leftover donuts were stuck to the bag.  And, when I tried to peel them out, they tasted like nasty grease (almost like Walmart donuts, actually).  I was really sad, but that’s not an example of the worst of nightmares, just an example of the stupidity of them.  Donuts?  Really?  Most of the donuts …I mean, nightmares…wake me up and I’m all freaked out and tensed and want to be comforted and such – which is kind of hard when I’m demanding to not be touched due to the itching that will follow.

Exercising.  Hahahahahahahah.  That was funny.