Not Such a Good Idea.

Yesterday was one of those days that if you stop and take a step back you think, I never want to re-live this day, ever.
I hardly slept the night before, due to cramping like war inside my intestines, shooting pains like fireworks flying into my groin. Of course I thought I was loosing the little tiny ET inside of me, and I was distraught. My thighs were loosing blood flow, feeling tingly because of the pain, and I just wanted to moan like I was in labor. Scream.
At one point I woke Joey up and said I thought I was losing the baby and he said that I didn't know what was going on, and then he pulled the covers up near his head and re-positioned himself like this was all a really big annoying interruption in his night's sleep. It's times like this where I am so shocked God ever invented marriage (and, I suppose it is exactly why He did). I didn't feel rage, or sadness, just wordless shock as I gritted my teeth for the next wave of cramping.
To his credit, he was sweet and inquisitive the next morning, "How are you feeling?"--but I just know he is quite worthless if he is tired, thinking about his twelve hour shift the next morning. Fair enough.
So anyway, no blood the next morning, and all over the Internet it says that cramping in the first trimester is totally normal. Even shooting pains, due to the repositioning of the uterus, ligaments stretching and stuff just getting rearranged.
That's when I realized I probably should not have gone snowboarding. Or have taught kickboxing the next morning. Because I am pretty sure I pulled a muscle down there, due to the fact my tummy won't stop aching, and when I sneeze or reach for something high or turn over in bed those fireworks start shooting off again.
Of course in the back of my mind, I keep thinking that maybe this little guy is stuck in a tube somewhere, or floating somewhere he really should not be, like near my liver or something. It was enough today to make me call a couple of doctors when I woke up, but the offices were closed.
Due to the lack of sleep, and the fatigue I am already feeling in this pregnancy (I feel like the walking dead from one to seven PM), my patience with Ethan yesterday was as tight and rigid as the army. I was like a sargent, barking out commands, constantly telling him he COULD NOT do anything he was doing. It was not fun. I told him when I kissed him goodnight that tomorrow would be better. It has been so far, but I still feel as mean as a pissed off cat.

Hitting the Mountain. Hard.

We went snowboarding today. For some reason I have wanted to get up there on that mountain ever since I quit my job.
As we rounded the last couple of curves before turning into the parking lot, I sunk into my seat and thought what was I thinking? But of course by then it was much too late to chicken out. We had a babysitter, we had all the gear, we were there. So I pushed thoughts of death and avalanches out of my mind and smiled and acted brave. Like I was so ready for this big mountain.
The day was beautiful, clear, sunny. The mountain was white and quiet. We were (seriously) the first ones on the lift. The solitude of the mountain on that first run was one of the highlights for me. I don't get out into nature enough, especially in winter, and seeing how majestic and still everything was put me in awe as I rode up on that cold black chair.
I managed to get off the lift without falling on my butt and stopping the whole operation (done that--it's about as humiliating as having your pants fall off) and we were off. Joey was...Joey: calm, teaching, explaining, easily frustrated when I would disregard his (good) advice. Get down. Bend your knees. Lean into the mountain.
SPLAT! ouch.
I finally started to try and really listen. I knew if I wanted to learn to actually ride down the mountain and not just slide on the back edge the whole way I would have to fall a couple of times. The risk paid off; I only fell a couple of times before I got the feeling of turning towards the mountain, and then back away from it.
I got the hang of it really fast.
And then I hit my head. Sitting on my butt I shook my head and made sure my sunglasses and hat were still around, and then I just sat there and I really wanted to cry. Joey came down and told me I should get out of the middle of the run. We inched over to the side and I swear I wanted it to be four o'clock right then. It was about nine.
On our break, Joey decided I should be the one wearing the helmet. I took it willingly. The next couple of runs were a little shaky. I forgot how much concentration snowboarding takes. The second I stopped thinking (OK, saying out loud) This way.....Now bend...and back this way...I was on my butt.
I finally found a really easy, really slow run in the back that I could practice my turns. I wouldn't say it was anything like flying down the mountain, it was more like a Sunday stroll, relaxing. I never passed anyone. In fact, at one point a man said to me, On your right. First time snowboarder coming through. And then he and his "first time snowboarder" made their way around me. That made me feel about forty five years old.
I think Joey was about ready to run himself into a tree to be put out of his misery. I told him he could go do his own thing, so he did. I was really OK with that, surprisingly.
We left early, but I was wasted. My legs were shot, like old rubber bands about to snap. They burned like fire too. They are still burning.
When I got home and laid down all I could think about was "carving" that mountain, picturing myself making those big very choppy and amaturish--but in my own eyes not so bad--turns.

Good Morning.

I look out the window and snow has started to sneak out of the sky. It's quiet. Makes me want to be up in the cabin, with cards and mint cookies and hot chocolate.
We took Ethan to Thomas the Train Live! yesterday. I was more excited than he was to go, to see his reaction to all those trains he loves so much "live". It's crazy what parents go through just to see their children smile. We got there a half hour early, and it didn't start till fifteen minutes later than that, and as you can possibly imagine, by this time Ethan was sprawled on the floor in ultimate boredom and Joey and I were as tense as rabbits in a hunt. Other older, much wiser parents had bought their children candy and snacks to stuff their faces with to pass the time. I will remember this next time.
We left at the intermission, telling Ethan, Oh, it's over. Wasn't that fun? It's all done now. I don't think he believed us at first but when he saw other desperate parents walking out the doors with their children, he gave in.
As far as this pregnancy goes, by five or six in the evening I feel as big as I did with Ethan at twenty weeks. Each morning if I could, I'd like to sleep in till ten, take a four our five our nap at one, and then at about nine o'clock, right before I should be getting sleepy, I get this ZAP of energy, and want nothing to do with going to bed. I have other weird prego symptoms that I will spare telling, but I am happy to feel all these things--they're confirmations of the little guy inside, who's bulging heart started beating on Friday.

Little Lear Numero Dos Baking in the Oven.

And when I say baking, I mean it. My tummy is so warm, like all of a sudden things are moving and grooving in there, which I guess they are. It's just cool to be so aware of it.
Of course, there are times when suddenly I don't feel pregnant, and I think, shoot! the little dot died!, which could be true, but I talked with my sister and she said we shouldn't think that way, shouldn't worry. Just be thankful to have this little life growing each and everyday, just like we should be thankful for any life: our own, Ethan's. Makes sense.
I didn't give a second thought to miscarrying with Ethan. Not a second thought. Maybe I didn't even know anyone who did, so I thought only old, unhealthy, ladies had them. Five years later, I know young, very healthy sisters and friends who have miscarried. Lots of them.
So anyway today this pregnancy feels very much like I am not pregnant; my stomach is just protruding a bit and it's softer than usual. And of course warm.
There is the daunting task of choosing a doctor. Just the thought kinda makes me want to puke. I have to have this baby in the hospital, seeing how that last one almost murdered me (just thinking about it gives me chills of terror) but I am still a home birth wacko at heart. It just seems like the right place for me to be, with a midwife, not getting texts done that require needles, not wearing some over sized, paper gown, not having some tube stuck up my wrist. I have to get over those things though. Have to get over probably having an epidural, which, who knows, might be my new best friend in about nine months.

SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

O my gosh. So I was wrong on both accounts. I can never let Joey know about this. Never. Ever.

Errands are Fun!

After working a whole lot, Joey finally had a day off Tuesday. We decided to run errands because when you don't get to be with someone a lot, running errands together sounds fun.
We made a list and loaded the van. We ran all over town, which I was pretty impressed with, because usually after one or two places everyone's tired and ready to go home for food and a nap. We did get in a big fight though, the kind where I swore UP and DOWN that there was never a Joanne's Fabric store next to Albertson's, but he was ready to lay down his life to prove there was. We called his mother and everything (she couldn't remember). Five seconds after we were kinda over it we started the whole thing up again about the location of the old K-Mart (we called my dad on this one and he couldn't remember either).
It's funny two days later thinking back on it, how upset I was--I mean, if you count wanting to leave your husband standing the parking lot at the fabric store all alone while you speed away, both hands clutching the steering wheel like some crazy cartoon--as being upset.
Our last errand was at the cell phone store. During all the arguing Joey and I were doing in the car, Ethan kept mentioning his tummy hurt. Joey went in to do the cell business, and I waited in the car with Ethan. Since it was our last errand and I was tired, I reclined the seat and told Ethan we were going to sleep for a while until Daddy returned.
Then, Ethan burped really loud.
Crap!
I looked back and his little chest was heaving, and he was gagging, and then he was barfing. I opened the door to run over to his side of the car and the alarm went off. I love cars. And at that moment I REALLY loved my husband who had the keys, and the alarm disabler, in his cozy little pocket. Thinking he'd look out the window any time and see his poor wife trying to comfort his barfing kid in the parking lot who is sitting in a car that is honking continually, I just took a deep breath and told Ethan everything was going to be OK.
A decade later I thought screw this and marched over to the store doors, only to be met by a somewhat bewildered Joey coming out.
"You locked the car." I said.
"You have the keys."
"NO, I don't. YOU do." He pulled the keys out of his pocket and as the honking stopped, the world started to come back into focus for me. I didn't say anything about Ethan though. I just walked over to the car and let Joey take it all in himself.
So far, that's been the biggest doozy Ethan's had. Could be worse I suppose, like diarrhea. Yeah, that would definitely have been worse.

Wait.

I loved being pregnant. I can't remember one bad day, save for a Tuesday at the beginning when I felt car sick even though I was sitting still as a stone on my bed, and then that last day when I went into labor hell. But for the time in between I felt more beautiful then I have ever felt, even though my thighs were large and bumpy, and I had energy, and joy, I have not felt since.
My sister mentioned "contentment" in my voice when I write about being at home. I am not so sure if it's contentment or just a change of perspective.
I want to have another baby and getting pregnant again has not happened as quickly as we thought it would. Ethan was a "surprise" so we thought we would have no problem getting pregnant again. Now yesterday my mom mentions scar tissue from Ethan's labor, and my heart sinks. This is what I am thinking about when I am playing with Ethan all day, this could be it.
Joey talked to me about getting on some sort of a schedule. In fact, right when I quit my job, I was all for it, I mean, how was I going to survive being at home without a bazillion things to get done and go to each day? But things are different now; being at home has it's own rhythm, and it's appointments are much more flexible then the world outside. Hours are longer, and I have time to read, write, clean, cook, and nap almost everyday. And Ethan is right there, playing or singing or pretending to read on his little pot. The thought that this "schedule" does not have an end point is a luxury beyond words. I still have not really grasped it.
But all this time to play with Ethan and take care of my home makes me want to fill it with children. And it's just not happening. We haven't been trying to too too long, but when you think you're miss fertile myrtle and turns out you aren't, the months seem like years. Another pregnancy test--which by the way I am not buying any more. Shoot, I've spent well over a hundred dollars on those stupid things and they just make me depressed--another thirty days. Seems like all you do is wait, with a heavy heart that sinks lower and lower into your chest as each month goes by.

Who knew? I love trains.

OK, so the birthday party one week after Christmas was a little much. Too many presents for one thing. You know you have a little problem when you are thinking about needing a bigger house to store all your kid's toys.
He got this killer train set handed down from his second cousin. It takes up my entire living room with mountains and bridges and tunnels. Surprisingly, I found myself enjoying setting it up. Which is all we did yesterday, set up this humongous train track.Which is one reason why I am loving being at home. Not having anything to think about besides my family, my church body, my friends. I keep waiting for the boredom to come, the frustration that seemed to be so constant before when I tried to "just" be at home. But the only thing I'm feeling is sleeping in until at least seven every morning, enjoying a cup of coffee every morning, Ethan's off the wall, crazy sentences he uses all the time now, naps in the afternoon, yummy homemade chili and macaroni and cheese, and candles burning all day long. Oh and baths. Lots of baths. And of course setting up train sets, all day long.

Happy New Year, Happy Birthday.

We had a fun little New Year's party last night. I can't remember the last time we spent time with friends together like that, we, I mean Joey and me. It was so nice, even tho "we" didn't really talk to each other. Just being together makes me feel happy.

I miss doing that stuff more on a regular basis. Now that I am home full time, we could. The possibilities of fun things to do because I am "just at home" are endless--crafty stuff, homemade gifts, snowboarding, hosting dinners and game nights.

Oh, and by the way, the little man is three today. Three. He keeps saying to me, every other day or so, real randomly, like when I am tying my shoes or something, "Mom, I'm so glad you are at home with me." The sweetest words I could ever hear.