Baby 2

will arrive in July. I found out at 4 in the morning the second week in November, but had actually "known" I was pregnant on November 1 (I'm one of those freaks who is ridiculously in touch with my body). I had been terrified of taking a pregnancy test because I didn't want another negative, and so the night before I told a friend that I would be testing the next morning. The next morning I woke up at 4 am and peed on a stick. I watched it as it looked to me like a negative sign (my heart broke) and then as it grew into a positive sign (my heart smiled). I stared at it and then woke Brandon up and asked him to verify that it was indeed a positive. And it was. Just to be sure, I tested again after school that same day and got another positive. Brandon and I were on top of the world. We made a video announcing the pregnancy and were planning on telling family at Thanksgiving.

But then on November 22, I fainted. Not once, but twice. Total loss of consciousness and blacked out, falling onto the floor. We sat there debating about calling someone and then gave in. I was taken to the hospital and hours after my initial arrival I was told that I did not have a viable pregnancy (it was either ectopic or a blighted ovum) because they could not see anything beyond the gestational sac. The ER doc said I would be admitted to the hospital and would likely have a D &C later that week.

I was heartbroken.

After I was discharged from the hospital, I followed up with my regular OB (the woman who delivered Max) and she still couldn't see anything. She took my blood and saw that my numbers were still rising, so suggested I come back in another week for another ultrasound.

That week of not knowing and thinking I had a failed pregnancy was very hard, but I think a part of me was certain my pregnancy was healthy and normal, and so was reassured. Remember--I'm the freak who is ridiculously in touch with her body, and I just felt pregnant.

On Monday, November 30, we saw the little bean--heartbeat and everything and the doctor declared everything healthy. From blighted ovum to a heartbeat in a week. This pregnancy was meant to be.

We have decided not to find out the sex of this little one. I really want to experience the surprise of waiting to find out on the day of delivery. I want that joy and surprise at least once. We will not be sharing names, but we have already decided on them. And to a certain extent I already feel like I know what sex this baby will be and what the name will be because one day a few weeks ago, I lifted a book from the bookshelf and the book literally fell open to a page (not by my doing) and in big, bold letters was the name Brandon and I had decided on if it were this particular sex. Coincidence? We shall see.

New blog name?

With the impending arrival of Baby 2 (AKA Shithead or Shitface, depending on the sex, which will be determined on the day of birth and not earlier), it has occurred to me that I should change this blog title to something else. Any suggestions?

Language development

I know I haven't written in a loooooooooooooooong time about words Max says--and well, that's because starting around his two year birthday, Max has been ridiculously verbal. So much, in fact, that there really isn't a word that Max hasn't said (that he's been exposed to). If you ask him to say something, he will repeat it, and usually very accurately, too.

There are, however, two words that Max will not correct his pronunciation of. Momo and cuckoo. I have no idea how Momo became Max-speak for "monkey" and how "cuckoo" became Max-speak for "cookie," but so be it.

He definitely goes through days where he likes to say one thing over the other. Right now it is still "not yet." (See my post from a few days ago.) Things I enjoy hearing him say because it cracks me up:
--wait a second
--work day? (When I pick him up from Lindsey's he asks me if I was at work today. He phrases it like a question, too, and tilts his little head when he asks it.)
--check it out (He points to something and wants me to look at it.)
--cool INSERT NOUN HERE. I especially like it when the cool NOUN is something completely uncool, like a beat-up Dodge Neon.
--Stop it, Momma/Dada! Stop it NOW!!!!! Go to bed now! Stop it! Night! (We must sound really mean when we put him to bed because when he pretends to put us to bed, that's what he tells us to do. And he uses his "mean voice, too.")

On a related note, Max has shown some skill with using proper pronouns. Seriously. I thought kids weren't supposed to know pronouns till later, but Max already has a good grasp of them. He can accurately use "I" and "you" and properly inserts Max as a subject or someone/thing else as a subject as well. He is using 3-5 word sentences at this point (usually 3-4 words per sentence). He uses the adverbs "too" and "really" properly and he uses them A LOT. Nothing is ever just big, but instead it is "really big." He can ask questions and respond when asked a quesition, and he has been doing all this since he turned two (although then it was 2-3 word sentences).

Other milestones: He can count to 10, knows his colors, knows the shapes (triangle, circle, square), can say all the sounds of the alphabet and identify them all (he has been doing this for a few months know) but cannot recite the song (but neither can Brandon). He knows directions and recognizes places really well--he remembers how to get home and tells me to TURN NOW and he remembered where Brandon got his hair cut (even though he got it cut there forever ago).

In short, I think he's a pretty smart lil dude.

One year and round two

I've been thinking a lot lately about a lot of different things, one of which is something I am sure most of us in my family has been thinking about but no one has really spoken aloud.

It's almost been one year. One year ago this month my parents came to visit and I noticed how skinny my dad had gotten and I just knew that something was wrong. I urged him to see a doctor and after a month of doctor's tests and other procedures, the diagnosis I had been fearing--and yet somehow knew was going to happen--was made. My dad had cancer.

Anyone who knows me knows that the first few months after that diagnosis were excrutiatingly painful. The drive back to St. Louis from Lebanon after I got the news (I was by myself) was the worst 3 hours of my life, the loneliest hours I've ever experienced. Afterwards, I drove to work every morning for the first few weeks just crying. I considered seeing a therapist or doctor about my own depression, and there was a time I just didn't feel like myself because I had so much sadness in me.

And yet somehow we've all made it. It's been almost a year and wounds heal, everything gets better with a kiss and a hug.

I love you both. And Dad, be proud of yourself for kicking cancer's ass. I am.

***

We've been trying for Round Two (translation: Baby Brother/Sister) for four months now. Because Round One was ridiculously easy and ended in immediate results, I find myself getting frustrated, as I am sure anyone who is trying to conceive does.

What is the hardest for me right now is that I know what I am getting into. I hope Max doesn't resent me for saying this, but in all honesty, I am not sure either of us knew what we were getting into when we decided to get pregnant. I suppose we both just assumed it was the natural progression of things--that we had reached the point in our relationship and our marriage where perhaps a baby would fit. I know I am not speaking for myself when I say that I had absolutely no idea how wonderful having a child could be and how much love you could have for someone else.

And that's exactly what we want. Another one to love, someone else to fit into our family. We know what we're getting into this time and we accept it with open arms. I would love nothing more than to see Max as a big brother--he'll be so proud of himself, I just know it. I feel readier for a baby this time around and more excited (not that I wasn't excited for Round 1, Max--it's just that I didn't really know what I was excited for with Round 1).

Strangely enough, the woman who thought that one kid would be her limit desperately wants one, but more likely two more. I love being a mom more than anything and I try very hard to be a good mom, although there are certainly times where I feel like a terrible one.

Max is the one person on this earth who is guaranteed to get a smile out of me (I think it might be the cheeks), and I'd kinda like a back-up smile-maker around the house.

Silly Max

(before going to bed this evening)

Mom/Jennifer: I love you, Max. Do you love Mommy?

Max: Not yet.

True Confessions

(of Jennifer, not Max)
1. I smuggled a margarita to the pool today and drank it while I read in the lounging chair.
2. I hit Shelley with a can of biscuits this morning. Complete accident, though. I was trying to get the sucker opened and it slipped out of my hands, landing on Shelley's head.
3. I sat Max in front of the tv today for over an hour so that I could clean the house and Brandon could mow the yard.
4. I watched a squirrel bounce around my screened in porch. At last I know who/what has been eating the bird food I keep stored there! That damn squirrel has been using his opposable thumbs or something to get into the porch and eat the bird food. Not really a confession, but it cracked me up and thought I would share.
5. I bribed my kid with two new toy cars so that he would sit in the shopping cart while we did our grocery shopping this morning. And when he wanted a snack, I just opened the rice chips and gave it to him to munch on while we shopped around. We paid for everything, of course.
6. I watched Max grunt and strain and get red in the face (which usually means he's pooping), and waited the five minutes till Brandon got back to acknowledge that he pooped. I have, in fact, done this a few times since Max has been born, and I wouldn't be surprised if Brandon has done the same.
7. I washed and folded 3 loads of laundry today--everything but the socks. I hate folding socks, so I just throw them in the laundry basket, and when you need socks, you just go fishing in the basket for them. Works well.
8. Max brought a tiara (don't ask me why he has one) with him on our dog walk this afternoon. He kept dropping it and then crying for it, and I threatened to not give it to him the next time he dropped it, but I gave it to him anyway.
9. I don't think I put deodorant on today. And I walked 5.5 miles. In 90 degree heat. "Gross!" as Max would say.
10. I taught Max how to say "bite me."

A boy and his papas

I've always wanted Max to have a special relationship with his grandparents, especially his grandfathers. I never really had a grandpa--my maternal grandfather passed away when I was very young and my paternal grandfather just wasn't the grandfatherly type (and I am pretty sure no one will deny that). I guess over the years I was always a little jealous of people who had a grandparent they could go to because really all I had (and still have) is my Grandma Vivian who lives thousands of miles away and I only see once a year (and get to see this weekend). To an extent, I guess I feel I missed out on a lot because of the absence of a grandpa(although I am sure others will say differently).

Max and I this past week spent some time alone with my parents while Brandon stayed in St. Louis to work and watch the house. I figured since I had the time off and nothing better to do, I might as well take Max to spend some extended time with his grandparents.

And it was the time of his life. Not to demean the time he has spent with Brandon and myself or other relatives, I do have to say that I have never seen Max happier. He was in a constant state of excitement and happiness and it made me smile just to watch him.

Because I know that Max is only 2 years old and will never remember this week, I wanted to write about it. Hopefully, however, we will get to do it again, and he will remember it on his own then.

Max's single favorite person in the world, without a doubt, is definitely my father, whom he has always called Papa. He knows when it is time for me to call my parents (I call them at 3:30 every day) and has been known to pick up the phone, hand it to me, and say "Papa." Watching Max interact with my dad this past week was hilarious and bittersweet at the same time.

Every day, Max and Papa did the same things. It's not like they did anything particularly exciting, but it was all excitement and fun in Max's eyes. As soon as Max woke up every morning, Papa would go to the cupboard, pull out the wafer cookies and hand 3 to Max and Max would smile and eat them (instead of a real and healthy breakfast--thanks, Dad). Every morning while Max was still in his jammies, he took my dad's hand and walked outside in the still dewy grass to go feed the birds and the squirrels in the backyard. Every hour upon the hour, Max and Papa ran around the house while each of the gazillion cuckoo clocks went off (Max knows when each one goes off and would point to the next one and say "next" so that they could run there). Every day when we went out and about, we took my car because it has the booster seat, and my dad (or sometimes my mom) would sit in the backseat with Max and do all sorts of obnoxious things, including tooting like a train for 15 minutes straight. Every dad Max and Papa would go hunting for cats and every day Max would journey to the beanie room and stand in bewilderment looking at all the babies. Every day they went to the garden and Max helped Papa get the ripe tomatoes and squash and Max loved carrying the vegetables inside for Papa.

He really did have fun. And not just with his papa, but his other papa, too (my mom--he calls her papa as well). He knows Grandma is the fish lady and loved feeding the fish every day. He loved hunting for cats with her, too--and she usually captured one of them so that Max could pet it (I desperately want to get a picture of this but have been unsuccessful thus far). He loved playing hide-n-seek with her, hiding his flashlight or some other toy and then finding it with Papa (who is really Grandma). He loved going to Waffle House and making ice and salt and pepper soup (in an ash tray).

We both had a nice time, and I'm glad Max had this time with his papas. We love you.

Max's special pooping spot

I honestly can't remember the last time we took Max to our local Barnes and Noble and Max DIDN'T poop. We go about once a week, mainly just to browse the books and let Max play with the train they there. But for whatever reason, every time we go there, Max ends up pooping. He only makes one poop a day and he is sort of irregular about when it happens, so that's why it is fascinating to me that no matter what time of day we go to the bookstore, he ends up pooping.

The vitals

Max's two year appointment was today, and let's just say it did NOT go well. He's never been particulary bad at the doctor's (nor has he been particularly good), but today he was just awful.

And yet it started out so well. I had taught him the word "doctor" and it was fun to watch him call anyone who came out of the office a "doctor." The people sitting in the waiting area were giggling at him. It was just too cute.

But then when the doctor did come (actually the nurse) and tried to weigh Max, all hell broke loose. I don't know how a 2 year old boy can possibly realize that hopping on the scale is a painful experience (at least it is for me and many other women), but Max knew. He just knew. And he refused to get on that scale. The nurse and I tried every gimmick in the book to no avail, and so as a last resort, we weighed Max and myself together and then myself and subtracted to see the difference (and boy, do those doctor's scales lie! I swear I was 5 pounds heavier there than I am at home!). The result: Max weighs 29 pounds, which is exactly average. We went through the same experience to get his height--he just refused--and at one point the nurse said, "you push the knees against the wall and I'll get the head." The result: Max is 33 inches, just a little shorter than average.

We then had to take his blood pressure, and that did not work at all. The poor nurse just quit. It was impossible to get an accurate reading with Max wailing the way he was.

When we met with the actual doctor, Max was still very frightened, but did a little better. The doctor seemed impressed with Max's language development (the kid knows probably 300 or more words and is speaking in 2-3 word sentences including, "try it," "bye/hi _____," "there/here it is," etc.), but wants us to get Max on a vitamin since he is so inconsistent with his eating, and since he is taking to vegetarianism like his mom (and I don't try to make him be vegetarian--I offer him meat, but he just doesn't eat it).

He did ok with the shots and I got him to stop crying by getting him to examine his band-aid.

****

In other news, Max knows his books. I just finished reading stories to him, and he is officially starting to fill in the parts he can say. He's known his books for a while in the sense that he knows what actions to anticipate (and he does them), but the past week or so he has been saying things right before I say them. I think that's sorta smart!

Happy 2nd Birthday, Max!

We love you!
Love, Mommy and Daddy

Summer time, Bad Mother, Good Father, and other thoughts

So I've been out of school for almost 2 weeks now, and it has been a blast. Each and every day is different with Max, and I try very hard to do something fun with him every day. Today, for example, we fingerpainted and got paint all over ourselves and the house. We also went to Barnes and Noble and played with the train set they have there (don't tell Max we got him a train set for his birthday). Afterwards we went to the park and played in the mud. Literally. I am really enjoying all of this time I get with him, and I am grateful that one of the perks of being a teacher is this time off (although I am writing curriculum during his naps every day, so it's not like I am 100 percent off from school).

Anyway, today when we were at the bookstore, I made a point to look through a book that just came out last week called Bad Mother. It is written by the same lady who a few years ago wrote a very controversial column for the New York Times in which she stated that she loved her husband more than her children. Obviously there was a lot of backlash over that but she has continued writing since then. Although I don't agree with everything the author writes, I do like reading her work because it makes me think, and this new book is no exception. In her new book, she writes that when a person is asked what constitutes a good father, usually the answer is along the same lines as "a dad who's there" (referring to the absence of the father from the American family), but when one is asked what constitutes a good mother, the answer is the opposite extreme--that is, there is so much that a good mother is expected to do and the good mothers often feel this pressure to do all this and then some in order to be the best mother for their children. And when these mothers feel they aren't doing everything for their children, they get a huge case of mother's guilt.

I asked Brandon today if he ever has father's guilt and he just asked me what that was.

I, on the other hand, have a case of mother's guilt at least once a day, every day, and during the school year, a large part of my guilt lies in the fact that I work outside the home and Max goes to another person to be cared for while I work.

I realize how fortunate I am to have Brandon as my husband and father to my child, especially considering that the average person thinks a good father is simply a present one. Brandon is that and so much more. I would say that he and I have a pretty equal distribution of labor in the house and we both try very hard to spend as much quality time with Max as possible. It is no secret that Brandon and I would both love to add another child to our family, and I can honestly say I wouldn't even consider expanding our family if Brandon weren't the wonderful father that he is.

Thoughts on turning 30.

I turned 30 yesterday.

This morning Brandon asked if I feel 30 and if I feel any different. Of course this is the sort of question that people ask everyone on their birthday, no matter how old they turn. But for some reason, I think most people consider the 30th birthday a "special" one, an "important" one, and a birthday that is just different from other birthdays.

While I don't feel 30 (I am not sure exactly what 30 feels like), I can say that I feel "different," not in the physical sense, but in the spiritual/emotional/mental sense. I feel like I see the world differently now, like I am some wise spiritual guru who just knows more. Because that's how it feels now--like I just know more (and not in the book sense).

Perhaps the single most important thing that I know now that I didn't 2 years ago, is that I love being a mom. I love everything there is about being Max's mom, even the temper tantrums when we have to leave the park. Sure, there are days where I get a little stressed out and need some time to myself, but more often than not, I can't think of a place I would rather be than chilling with Max. Obviously I am only 2 years into this gig, so it's a little early to judge, but I think I am pretty good at this mother thing. More importantly, though, I love it and can't see myself doing anything else.

New words, 23 months

At this point, Max is saying around 150 words at least. Here are a few of the new ones:

siren, sorry, blue, big (and he loves the combination of blue truck, big truck, and big blue truck), Cheerios, nut (short for Peanut, Lindsey's kid), bike (and he often combines this with "cool"), there you are, there it is, Lucy, Shell-Shell, sleep, nap, sad, dinner, help, get up, knock, roll up (as in a Fruit Roll Up), sneeze, salad, park, squirrel, poof (as in cheesey poof), and chimes.

In other news, last night Max had my make-up on his cheeks and was rolling his popper in mud puddles (yes, we were outside) over and over again.

Words Max can say at 21-22 months

At this point, Max can say nearly 100 words. Or at least, he says something very close to it, and we can understand what he's trying to say. So, in no particular order, here are all the words Max says:

hi, hello, bye, Mom, Dad, dog, Pippi, bear, giraffe, chair, banana, hair, eye, ear, toes, juice, cheese, chip, baby, milk, tit, berry, applesauce, egg, cat, monkey (mo-mo), bird, frog, duck, bug, yeah, yum, ball, star, fish, pig, car, truck, bus, light, up, off, on, book, hat, shirt, shoes, socks, bag, coat, thank you, bless you, uh-oh, shit, pee, poop, blues clues (boo-clu), notebook, clock, see, this, keys, water (wa-wa), no, excuse me, sit, choo-choo, hot, cool, Derick, trash, shut up, bad, boo-boo, door, tree, ick, house, tractor, night-night, back, bubble, bite, block, cuckoo, sink, grandpa, meow, tissue, cheeck, outside, hide, stick, rock, bench, owie, bowl, moon, turtle and deoxyribonucleic acid.

Pretty impressive, huh?

Luck and love

I went shopping today to get Max some Easter presents, and I spent too much. As always when it comes to Max, I go overboard, trying very hard to give him everything he could possibly want or need.

And as cliche as it sounds, all he really needs, and wants for that matter, is love. And I'm really good at giving him that. I don't know if it is because I love him more and more every day or just that he's more and more fun every day (or a combination of both), but I just love spending my time with Max. He makes me smile, he makes me laugh, and I sincerely feel like he is making me a better person because now I feel like I have a true purpose, a true something-to-live-for. I hope that Max knows how much I love him and how important his happiness is to me.

At the risk of using yet another cliche in this post (I know, how annoying!), I am learning as I "grow up" just how important family is. That is not to say I did not understand the importance of it prior to the birth of Max or my dad's cancer diagnosis, but I suppose I can just feel the importance of it more, not just "know" its importance.

To be honest, knowing and feeling just how much I love Max, Brandon, my parents, sisters, etc., actually makes me scared shitless. The fact that I love more and more every day scares me, especially with the reality of cancer smacking me in the face.

This just should not be happening to our family.

I have felt like one of the luckiest people in the world until recently. I have the most perfect son in the world and my love for him has made me feel more love than ever before in my entire life, and yet now I feel as if luck ain't nuffin, honey.

No Easter pic this year...

Max was too afraid of the bunny and clung to me, refusing to let go. He threw a major hissy fit, so we had to apologize to the photographer and leave. At least he said "bye bye" to the bunny (and we witnessed at least 3 other kids pulling a similar stunt so as to get out of the Easter Bunny picture).

Super Intelligent Things Momma Has Taught Max

-how to spit
-how to stick out our tongue
-how to make a frowny face
-"oh sh*t" (and this I am NOT proud of--trying to change it to "oh snap")
-how to roar!
-how to fake cry to get what we want
-how to hit the table and say "bad table" when we bump into the table
-how to put our feet in Miss Pippi's face so that she will lick them
-how to wipe when we go potty (he seriously tears the toilet paper and pretends to wipe as if he is a woman)
-super cool dance moves
-how to jump
-how to pick our nose
-how to throw stuff in the shopping cart that we want (without Dad noticing)
-how to moisturize our skin
-the art of applying make-up (Max particulary likes chapstick)
-how to pick locks

****In an effort to be balanced, Super Intelligent Things Daddy Has Taught Max****
-how to do important things on the computer
-how to make Momma's coffee
-how to blow soap suds off our fingers/toes
-how to turn on and off lights
-how to put the dog bowls up on the fridge
-how to fill the dogs' water bowls

Max's Wild and Crazy Spring Break

What he did....

--had ice cream from the ice cream man for the first time. He got a Sponge Bob Ice Cream.
--started saying "truck," but instead of sounding like "truck," he says, "fuck." And he says it like every time he sees a truck, which is about 452357023495o7234905702432 times a day. We keep correcting him, but he's not changing his MISpronunciation.
--cooked fish and a baby with Miss Sylvia at the YMCA. We joined the Y, and the nice child care attendant is a very sweet Cuban woman named Sylvia. Max was obviously hesitant to go to the kid section away from us and cried and screamed and just threw a major fit, but Miss Sylvia was very good with him and managed to calm him down every time. When Brandon and I went to go get Max after our workouts, we would find Max and Miss Sylvia playing in the kid kitchen and they were cooking a big plastic fish and Max had a toy doll in a sauce pan. Disturbing, huh? We will do swim lessons with Max at the Y starting mid-April. I am sure he'll have a blast.

Dear Aunt Kelly....

Many moons ago, I visited Grandma and Grandpa Ice's abode and came across a poor, homeless, malnourished, and rather unfashionable (read: naked!) baby doll. I quickly discovered that the doll was so malnourished that it ate its own fingers and toes. Rather than ignore the poor baby's neglect and terrible living conditions, I chose to pull a Brangelina and adopt the young child. She has been living under my loving care since then.

I have since named the poor lass "Baby," and I take her with me wherever I go. We have been on many an adventure together, and I cannot imagine my life without her. I share my titties with her, feed her, change her baby panties, provide her with soy milkie, and make sure she is exposed to great works of European literature.

It is my understanding that you are upset with Baby's residing with The Mr. Max. Do I need to remind you that The Mr. Max is just a baby? That you are an old hag? That the baby (Max) needs his Baby?

I will provide you 2 days to think about the error of your ways.

Sincerely,
Mr. Max

p.s.
You already made me cry once by telling me "no no." Do you really want to make me cry again by taking away my Baby?

Night night!

He said it! Also said "trash" (we were being good citizens and collecting trash at the park and putting it in the trash can) and, believe it or not, "owie zowie." I particularly liked it when he said that. Hee hee.