I shrink, therefore I am.

One of my most favorite things to do is wash laundry.

Ok, not really... But it's something I do every single day. Somehow between the 4 of us (Owen's laundry is done separate) we manage to dirty up an entire large load of clothes in a single day. And Kade's only here part time.

As often as I do laundry, I'm still not very good at it. I pretty much suck at folding clothes... I still have trouble telling the difference between Steve's and Aaron's jeans... I forget to throw a fabric softener sheet in the dryer at least twice a week... I've caught myself hanging Steve's clothes in MY closet (don't ask?) I've ran the water and detergent only to realize I never put the clothes in... I have had to wash the same load twice because I couldn't remember if I added the detergent or not... and I don't check pockets.

Checking pockets really is a must. I am constantly washing things that should not be washed in the washing machine, with clothes. I've washed mechanical pencils and ink pens (I've got stains to prove that), lighters, chap stick, dollar bills, and oodles of change... But the most surprising yet?

A pack of cigarettes.

The other night, Steve was getting ready to leave for work, and was frantically looking for his brand new pack of cigarettes. He ran out of time looking, so he gave up and bought more before work. I of course told him that he could save himself the trouble and just quit smoking... but he didn't like that idea.
The next day I was doing laundry (of course) and when I went to switch the load over to the dryer - I found his missing pack of cigarettes... In the bottom of the washing machine...

How in the heck I put a pair of jeans in the wash with a full pack in the pocket without realizing it is beyond me... I'm going to blame it on the lack of sleep.

Their plastic seal was still completely unbroken. I opened them up, and they were still dry... They also still stunk just like cigarettes. I assumed they were okay, so I put them on the nightstand for him to find when he woke up later in the afternoon.

I was secretly hoping that they would taste like laundry detergent and the taste would be disgusting enough to make him quit cold turkey, but apparently they were fine... He smoked them, no complaints.

Of course, knowing me, this was probably one of those times I forgot to put the laundry detergent to begin with... Go figure!

Birthing Owen

Owen Wayne Watson Nov. 9th, 2009 11:03 am. 6 lb. 14 oz. 20 in.

"Every pregnancy is different." I'd heard this phrase many times throughout my pregnancy with Owen. All I had for comparison was my pregnancy with Kaden over 3 years ago. The similarities between the two seemed to end as soon as the morning sickness was over. I had a normal, relaxed pregnancy with Kaden, and Owen was causing concern from the very first ultrasound.

After getting a mere 4 hours of sleep Sunday night (on the couch, 11pm-3am, waking every hour) we went in at 6am to have Owen's labor induced. I had woken up with an upset stomach that triggered contractions off and on through the night... This wasn't unusual - I had contractions off and on throughout most of my pregnancy with Owen, and it was a big factor in my taking off work early.

We got to labor & delivery just before 6am. I put on the oh-so-flattering hospital gown, and crawled into the uncomfortable bed. The nurse checked to see if I had dilated at all on my own (again, triggering a contraction) and lo and behold - I was already at 3 cm before any of the induction process was started.

They started the pitocin drip at around 6:30 and broke my water about a half hour later. The contractions were tolerable, until about 10:00. They were coming closer together and Steve suggested I ask about the epidural. I didn't think I needed it yet - because I was in nowhere near the amount of pain I was in with Kade.... But I asked anyways, and the nurse told me that the doctor was giving an epidural to the other gal that came in to be induced at the same time I did... (which made me feel MUCH better about going ahead and getting it) and as soon as she was finished she would send her in to do mine. The nurse checked me and said I was about 4-5 cm. That was 1-2 cm in 3 hours. At this rate, this was going to take all day!

The anesthesiologist was in about 10 minutes (3 hard contractions) later. Getting the epidural sucked! I had about 3 or 4 more nasty contractions while she was threading it through my back, and I just felt like different. I told the nurse as they got me situated on my back again, that I was feeling a lot of pressure. It felt like someone was sitting on my belly. She said she'd check me again to make sure I hadn't "done anything surprising."

Well I had. In the amount of time it took for them to get the epidural - twenty, maybe thirty minutes max - I had gone from 4-5 cm to being completely dilated and ready to push. And my doctor was not at the hospital.

The epidural kicked in and all I felt was relief. I was practically in a state of euphoria, cracking jokes and making fun of myself the whole time they were telling me not to push because the doctor wasn't back yet. Steve thought it was the meds making me loopy... but I remember it all, very well... I was just very happy. I was relieved because I'd survived. I was dreading labor after a miserable 14 hour labor with Kade, and this one had been cake. I was happy I stayed awake and would remember it. I was glad it was almost over after barely 4 1/2 hours.

I wasn't too concerned that my doctor was not at the hospital and there were nurses telling me NOT to push. I asked them "How the HELL do I not push?" And they told me to breathe - just like in the movies. Short ridiculous breaths.. So there I was, looking at Steve, panting like a dog, feeling like a fool... but absolutely elated, and in an incredibly good mood.

The doctor finally got there and in two pushes, Owen was born. I could FEEL him sliding out of my body... I got to hold him in my arms while we were still physically connected. I had no cuts or tears, and Owen (with Apgar scores of 9 and 9) was absolutely perfect.

At our first ultrasound, they discovered that Owen was missing a vessel in his umbilical cord. He only had two, where there were supposed to be three. They said it happens in 1 percent of pregnancies, they didn't know why. We were warned about the possibility of heart & kidney defects, Down Syndrome, low birthweight, and even the risk of stillbirth.... None of which are things we wanted to hear. We had multiple ultrasounds to watch his growth, and went in for other monitoring the last 4 or 5 weeks. The ultrasounds showed no problems with his heart or his kidneys, which was a relief. We turned down the chromosome testing they offered us to check for Down Syndrome.

We were told he would likely be a "petite" baby. At our last ultrasound at 36 weeks, they estimated he weighed 5 pounds. At my 38 week appointment, my uterus was measuring 6 weeks small. Steve and I were expecting a 5-6 pound baby boy...

As it was, Owen's birthweight was the exact same as Kaden's was... And Owen was a half inch longer.

It was, overall, one of the most incredible, unforgettable experiences that I've ever had... and I couldn't be more blessed to have this little man.

Thanksgiving

I'm finding it very hard to believe that it's this time of year already, but Thanksgiving is less than a week away, and Christmas is just a month after that. Walk into any store, and there are already endless aisles of decorations on display, turkeys are on sale, Christmas carols over the intercom and both the parking lot and checkout lanes are packed full. 'Tis the season!

As a kid, this was the time of year that I would sit down and make a massive list of all the toys that I didn't have, and just couldn't live without. Now, as an adult, I'm making a massive list of all the things I am thankful that I do have, and couldn't live without... and it isn't a list of "things...." It's basically a list of people, or to sum it up... Family.

I am so unbelievably blessed that it's not even fair to the rest of the world.

I am thankful to be so surrounded by people that love me. Some people rarely hear "I love you," but I don't go a single day without hearing it and seeing it. My mom makes it a point to tell me she loves me every time she gets off the phone with me (and you can ask Steve, we talk often). Kade tells me every day he's here. I hear it from Steve all the time. Aaron even has his own way of showing it (poking my leftover baby belly and jiggling my arm fat is teenager for "I love you" right)? And baby Owen, I can't even explain... And I can't possibly list every way I am shown... But I have the best parents in the world, and Steve is an absolutely amazing human being.

I am thankful for my new extended family - Steve and Aaron, his parents, his brothers and sisters and their families, his older kids.... They've all welcomed Kaden and I in to their family with such big open arms, that we feel like we've been family all along. I truly am blessed.

Of course I am thankful for my extended family, too... I could sit and make a list of each family member and the things they've done for me... but it would be massive, and I don't want to leave anyone out... plus, I'm not allowed to mention Aunt Cindy in any of my blogs (My dad is right, I don't hold anything back)... But I am certainly blessed with my family, they have all been there for me in their own ways.

Maybe it's leftover pregnancy/postpartum hormones, but I sit here teary eyed at how lucky I am to have such wonderful people in my life.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. =)

Dinah, won't you blow your horn?

'Tis the season for colds and runny noses.

Though Kade is only 3 years old, he can pretty much tell you when he needs a kleenex... which is pretty much constantly. He is a snotty kid, and that's all there is to it. Granted, he does pick his boogers... and sometimes I catch him with snot strung all across his face, but when he sneezes, he knows his nose needs wiped. He's a good little nose blower, too, even when his little sniffer is sore and red from blowing it so much.

So, if my three year old can blow his nose, why is it that the 16 year old sitting behind me can't blow his? No, I'm actually not talking about Aaron, this time it's one of his buddies... The one that I've fondly come to refer to as the "family dog." He eats the leftovers, drinks out of bowls (no joke) and is most often the culprit if you're missing a shoe or your underwear.... And now the constant sniffing... ugh.

I would think that it would be less work to get up and get a kleenex than it would be to continually suck your snot back up, swallow it (he's obviously not getting up to spit it out) and restart the whole process every freaking 30 seconds.

That's just gross... but it's exactly what he's doing. Sniffing the snot back into his nose, instead of blowing it out... sucking it into his throat... and then swallowing it!

GROSS!

Maybe if I wave a ball in front of his face (here boy!) and toss it across the room into a box of tissues (go get it!), he'll fetch it (Good boy!!) and actually get the friggen point?

Probably not....

Sure, you can teach an old dog new tricks... but you can't teach a teenager anything.

Making a splash

Early in the year, my parents and I "upgraded" our cell phones. My dad signed another contract with AT&T, and the three of us drooled over the displays of fancy gidgets, gadgets, and widgets that we didn't have any idea how to use.

My mom specifically wanted a camera phone. She ended up picking out a basic flip phone in a pretty pink color. Dad chose the same model in a more masculine hue.
I had been waiting on the upgrade for quite some time, and after doing some research (not very extensive research) I had decided on the new LG Vu.

It didn't take long for my parents to get bored with their basic models, and they both exchanged their new cells for the Vu as well.

Since then, we've had nothing but trouble with them. All three of our phones have been sent in to be replaced at least once. From not being able to access the mobile web, problems receiving texts, to battery issues and a seriously annoying lack of signal, we've fondly come to refer to our phones as "pieces of crap."

I was expecting my mom to show up at the house at any time this morning, when I received a phone call from her on her home phone. I was confused, as she had just sent me a text that said she was on her way.

Mom is a heavy coffee drinker... and heavy coffee drinkers pee just about as often as pregnant women. Before coming over to see her grandsons this morning, she decided to empty her bladder at home one more time (I can't blame her, she's read what I've blogged about our potty issues here).

Apparently her "piece of crap" cell phone was in her back pocket. When she pulled down her jeans, the LG Vu fell out of her back pocket, and directly into the toilet.

Nice.

I'm sure she'll murder me for blogging about it, but I just can't help it.
I've had many close calls myself, and dropping the phone in the stool has been one of my fears for a long time now.

We're hoping she'll be able to get a new phone out of the insurance - We know that it doesn't cover water damage... but the contract doesn't mention urine damage.

The mind of my 3 year old

With just ten hours to go before I'm due at the hospital to have my second, I thought it would be fitting to write about my first born son.

He is, without a doubt, a complete nut... and I love him to pieces. Kaden's at an age right now where I really wish I could preserve every fragment of his imagination, write down every word he says, and capture everything he does on video.

I've probably said this at every stage he's gone through... but he is really developing quite a little personality.

Oh, the things he does... Yesterday morning he was eating dry apple jacks cereal for breakfast. Of course, he didn't eat them all and they ended up scattered on my parent's living room floor. I told him to pick them up once, and surprisingly, he listened very well.... but it didn't take long at all before he had a few strung out again. For the last time before we headed back home, I told him to pick the cereal up off the floor... Again, he listened... though he didn't do it as I had intended for him to... =/

No, leave it to Kade to get on his hands and knees and pick up his trail of apple jacks one by one with his mouth like a dog following a kibble trail directly into a cage.

On his wild imagination.. Earlier this afternoon, I dressed him in the Spiderman (or "SPYMAN" as Kade calls him) Halloween costume that his Papaw Ed sewed together out of two pairs of blue sweatpants and a red turtleneck. I snapped a couple picks of him on my phone before he climbed into my lap and licked my forehead.

"What in the world are you doing?" I asked him, perplexed. He started panting like a dog. "I'm Bolt!" He proclaimed proudly, as I dodged a second lapping.
His daddy took him trick or treating as Bolt, so I knew he was making a connection with wearing costumes... I love that imagination, and I appreciate the gesture, but I prefer real kisses, not dog-like lick kisses!

As for the things he says?
Shortly before the Spiderman/Bolt identity crisis and after having 2 hot dogs, some Doritos and a Nutripals chocolate shake for lunch (that makes up for the Doritos and mystery meat, right?) Kaden had a nasty thick, smelly, poopy diaper. Fantastic. He's usually just a once-a-day pooper, so I wasn't expecting him to go anymore, but I told him to tell me the next time he had to go. He went through a list of other trusted adults.

"Or tell Steve?" He asked.
"Yep, or tell Steve!" I replied.
"Or Aaron? Or Grandma Debby? Or Papaw Ed? Or Grandma Elsie?" On and on down his list he went.
"Yes, Kade, just tell someone you have to go!"
"Okay" He said happily, as if he actually was going to listen this time. We've been through this a million times, and he always tells us when it's too late.
"Or better yet," I said teasingly, "If you have to poop again, wait until you're at Grandma Debby's!" Yes, I'm an awful mother.
"Okay!" He said again, and he wandered upstairs to play.

A few hours later, and about ten minutes before my parents arrived to pick him up (they're keeping him tonight, since we'll be leaving for the hospital between 4:30 and 5am) Kade came running downstairs in a hurry.

"Mommy! Mommy! I pooped! I pooped!" he said, backing his butt up to me for proof, "We gotta go to Grandma Debby's!"

All I could do was laugh, giggle, snicker and call my mom to tell her all about the bullet she'd just dodged. Did he make the connection that I wanted him to be at Grandma's when he pooped? Or did he poop again because he thought he would get to see Grandma Debby?

The latter honestly scares me. This kid loves my mom...

If Kaden starts pooping every time he wants to see Grandma Debby, I'll literally be in deep shit..

What's for dinner?

One of the most pondered questions in this household has got to be "What's for dinner?"

We keep an updated list of the meals we have the "fixin's" for on the fridge every week, so it's not that there's nothing in the house to cook, it's more a matter of "What do I feel like cooking for dinner?"

It has been an especially tough question lately, with Steve and I both having toothaches, and me being big, fat and pregnant, feeling less and less like cooking every day.
Steve fired up the grill tonight and fixed pork chops, baked potatoes and mac & cheese.

Kade actually laid himself down for a rare nap and slept through supper, and was in quite a mood when he woke up. I reheated him a plate and attempted to get him to eat. He doesn't usually do porkchops very well, but I wanted to get some protein in him.
"Do you want a peanut butter sandwich?" I asked him, getting the bread out of the cabinet. He doesn't usually turn down a peanut butter sandwich, but as I said, he was just in one of those moods when he woke up.
"No, just bread!" He answered. I caved. He ate a good lunch, anyways.

After a few bites of mac and cheese and a bite of his bread, my little chef got a brilliant idea.

"I want macaroni and cheese on my bread!" He told me. He has seen me put spaghetti on garlic bread before, I figured that's where he got the idea.... but eww. That doesn't sound good at all.
"You want macaroni on your bread?" I asked him, unsure about it.

"Yeah! I want a macaroni and cheese sandwich!" He replied confidently.

Reluctantly, I spooned his macaroni onto his bread and folded it in half... And he ate it. A macaroni and cheese sandwich.

Though I love my son to pieces, and applaud his creative thinking, I don't think we'll be serving Macaroni and Cheese Sandwiches in "Cafe World" any time in the near future.

Two Pounds

According to this website (and multiple other sources) a woman gains two pounds of boob while pregnant.

I will admit that I most certainly have gained some poundage in the chest... though I can't really tell you how much. Honestly, I'm unsure of how anyone would be able to tell you how much boob they gained or did not gain during pregnancy. I certainly didn't weigh my knockers before getting knocked up... And I haven't weighed them after, either.

I have a really bad image in my head of OB/GYN's weighing their patient's breasts on the same type of scale my mother used to use to weigh her food when she was on Weight Watchers. That just can't be accurate.

Now, I was pretty well endowed before I got pregnant, but my mommy mammaries are really on the ridiculous side. If I were to paint each one blue, they would remind me of "Bob" from the movie Monsters VS Aliens.
Bob basically swallows or engulfs anything he comes to contact with. In the movie, he gives another character a hug and nearly suffocates the guy.

Yes, that definitely sounds familiar.

In this tide commercial a pregnant lady is shown eating ice cream, dropping some on her belly multiple times. I don't have this problem. My shirts are all stained on the chest, not the belly.

Actually, the shirts aren't even stained, because my boobs have gotten so big, they stick out the top of all of my shirts. I could wear a button down blouse completely buttoned up, with the collar popped up, and they'd still stick out. I've got cleavage up to my chin.

These girls catch everything. I feel like I am constantly brushing crumbs off my chest We should probably have a garbage disposal installed in our shower, because at the end of the day, I swear I'm washing a 3 course meal out from between and underneath my boobs and right down the drain. Heck, that could be why I haven't gained much weight with this pregnancy - I'm only eating half of my meals - the other half gets lost in my cleavage.

OK, So I'm sure I'm exaggerating just a bit here... but they're definitely massive, and I am constantly brushing crumbs off of them. They are uncomfortable, they get in the way, and are just plain annoying.

I don't even know what "tat" is, but at this point, exchanging my two extra pounds of tit for tat sounds like a pretty good deal.

Shit or get off the pot

One of the joys of this pregnancy has been waking up sick to my stomach in the middle of the night. I've had this problem through the whole 9 months, but it's gotten increasingly worse the farther along I get. Right now, I am waking up sick a couple of times a week.

Last night was just one of those nights.

I woke up with heartburn, nausea and a gurgling stomach. Crawling out of bed and waddling to the bathroom started contractions. I was absolutely miserable.

Sitting on the floor, contracting, there was one question I had on my mind... and no, it wasn't "Should I go to the hospital?"

The question was "Do I shit or get off the pot (so I can throw up in it)?" I knew I was going to be sick, I just didn't know which end it was coming from first. I'm sure this sounds strange, but in all my misery, that well-known phrase made the wheels start turning in my head... And now that I'm feeling better, I feel compelled to write about it.

For the record, I ended up grabbing the empty mop bucket. I decided there was no way I was going to put my face close enough to the toilet to not miss.

So, shit or get off the pot. My question for today - WHY do boys take so long to poop? I'm pretty sure we've come to the conclusion that bathrooms, or toilets specifically, are disgusting.. So why is it that guys dawdle around in there? If it takes you 30 minutes to poop, maybe you just didn't have to go yet.

My dad takes a really long time to poop. If you see him headed towards the bathroom with an Ayn Rand book in hand, you'd be wise to not drink anything for at least an hour.

It's actually amazing, because if you do happen to be unfortunate enough to need to use the bathroom while he's in there, if you just knock on the door and politely explain your situation, suddenly, he's done. If you knock on the door, he can poop in 5 minutes.. but when left alone, he could be in there all afternoon.

Why in the world would anyone want to stay in there that long?

Maybe he just gets into the book, I don't know... But there's no crime in reading outside of the bathroom, Dad. Shit or get off the pot!

Aaron tends to take a long time in the bathroom as well. I've learned to take a quick potty break just before 3pm during the week because he's an "after-school-pooper." If he gets in there first, it's going to be a good 20 minutes until he's out of there, and then you have to wait for it to air out. He doesn't take a book to the bathroom... But I imagine he spends his length of time in there texting and smoking... and No, just so you know, the smell of a 16 year old boy's poop does not mask the smell of a cigarette... Nor does the smell of a cigarette mask the smell of a 16 year old boy's poop.

I just personally can't imagine why you'd want to spend so much time doing something so disgusting. My philosophy - get in and get out before anyone else figures out what you're doing!

And that's where the myth that "Girls don't poop" came from.

We do.

We just don't dilly dally when it comes to dropping a dollop.