I Can't Handle the Truth

My big brother arrived back from Europe! He is back in the Bay Area to stay and I am no longer the lone West coaster of my family. He landed with a new family member, just 4 months old.

Little Q and I went to visit his new cousin. At first he was very into her, smiling and gently touching her. But then I decided to help out and feed her a bottle. He pushed at her little body. He slapped my thigh and looked at me. He eventually dissolved into tears, inconsolably whining "Mooommy! Mommmy! Mommy!" as he pushed at her again.

I told him in no uncertain terms that we do not push and hit and that I am feeding his cousin and will continue to do so for one more minute. I finished giving her the bottle (one more minute's worth). Then I gave him a hug.

My brother and sister-in-law didn't know that their new kid would be used in this experiment. They looked a little stunned, but overall seemed to be okay with it.

What have we gotten ourselves into?

Cheating, Who Me?

Apparently, the teething was the main issue. Poor guy. Despite round the clock Motrin, Quinn was having a hard hard time with the new big fat teeth. It seems like they've arrived, and now he is much happier and also back to himself a bit. In addition, we have all gotten used to the hovel and everyone is sleeping better. That first week was tough. Teeth, hovel, pregnancy and all the rest were too much for me. Good news, because two weeks left before returning home turned back into 3 weeks. I'm hoping we'll be back home before mid-March. We'll see.

Nothing else to report. It is raining here today. I am by myself with Quinn. Yes, I spend time with him by myself because I am a cheater. I started cheating at 28 weeks. I looked in to the archives of this blog. That's when I started cheating last time, too. I pick him up now and then. We do all sorts of things I shouldn't do. Dr. C gets mad and compliments his great stitch, implying, as usual, it has nothing to do with me. In fact, he implies the only reason disaster hasn't struck is his handiwork--given my level of non-compliance. Hey, at least I tell the truth. I'm not hiding that I cheat.I think Dr. C has it wrong. It's my cervix that is so great. It doesn't help my motivation that nothing changes on every ultrasound in spite of my increased activity. It gets worse and worse as I get further along because I tend to rationalize now if the stitch is so great, it will probably hold if it needs to.

They set me free at 34 weeks during Q's pregnancy. That's just two weeks from now. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that all continues to go well. Dr. C hasn't given a firm date for "regular" activity, but knowing him, it won't be until he removes his amazing handiwork at 36-37 weeks. Still, that's not too long from now. Not long at all.

Who is this Child and Where is my Son?

18 months. The joy. Luckily, I have read some info on the trusty internet and I have learned about sleep regression, tantrums and the general insanity of the 18 month old. It isn't cold comfort since it helps me know I am not insane, but I can't say the advice is so helpful. Books have some advice, but the real moms on forums just say wait it out. It goes away and your loving child comes back. It gets better again at 20 months. Only problem here is that at 20 months the plan is to have a newborn. Maybe he is training me for what is to come in terms of sleep deprivation and patience.

Quinn throws a tantrum every 5 minutes. He has started waking up at 4am, totally inconsolable. He throws food. Teeth are budding. He is miserable. He wants only Mommy, who is 7 1/2 months pregnant and living on a hovel (violins, please!). Last night as I fell into bed so exhausted having been up since 4am, I prayed this morning would be better. No such luck. I am about to get into the shower to go to work and do a shitty job since I feel nauseated I am so tired. All the forums from the mommy's of 18 months olds talk about how totally tiring it is. I can't help but note that it is so much worse for me (violins, again! Please?) given my delicate condition.

I am such a martyr. Really. This is another problem of fortune I am overall grateful to have. I have a child who is doing developmentally exactly what he should, and I am nearly 32 weeks pregnant—a milestone that for me that is cause for trumpets.

Yet, I would like my son back. The sweet one who pretty much sleeps through the night and who smiles, plays independently and eats almost anything you put in front of him. This new kid doesn't sleep, he tantrums every 5 minutes and he hardly eats anything or throws what you give him to the floor if it is not to his liking. The only saving grace is the poor guy is so miserable that you can't help but feel for him. It's a saving grace because I DO have some empathy for this new spawn that helps me be loving and kind despite wanting to scream and run away. Honestly, sometimes he looks so beseechingly at me, like "Help me! I am trying to tell you so much but I CAN'T and it SUCKS!!!" I am able to say "I know little man. I know."

Some good news (I'm finding it's helpful to end on a good note). The painters say we can be back in two weeks. I thought it would be 3. I know I will be able to handle this better at home in my king size bed. The hovel is taking its toll.

A List of Complaints!

Day 3 in the hovel and it is superbad. Not in a Super Bad "I'm a bad motherfucker way" like Samual Jackson's wallet, but in a super NOT GOOD kind of way. I'm not sure why I didn't realize that we would also have to pack up all of our belongings with the issue of the new paint and new floors, but after talking to the contractor yesterday, it became clear a long night was ahead of us. The husband and I stayed packing till 11. Q was with his Granny, recently renamed "Nanny", his version of "Granny." Honestly, I can't think of a more appropriate nickname for her since he is with her ALL THE TIME and she has become our nanny of sorts. Actually, she is trying to steal my child! No, no, she is a big help (insert self-conscious laugh and a “where did that come from?” here). She is totally a big help to us, and also, she wants to steal my child. Um, just kidding. She is a big help (steal child!)

The other night we were at her place, and Q was having a little meltdown as I helped him into his PJ's. She walked in and of course up when his arms and "Up!" said his little voice. She whisked him right out of my lap. He looked down at pathetic mommy, who remained sprawled on the floor, calmly and without the recent tears. Nanny held out her hand for his PJ bottoms and matter of factly said, “I’ll do it." I imagined myself morphing into a tiger, as I roared “No you will NOT. Give me my child, you thief!" But what did I do? I dumbly handed her the PJ bottoms. I'm sure you've figured out by now that this grandmother is not my mother. Had it been my mom I would have just said, "Go away, Mom. I got it." I'd say it with an eye roll and in a totally irritated tone. It's so unfair how I tend to revert to the obnoxious teenager with her. Poor Mom. But that's another post....

The real truth is that Nanny (husband's mom) is a very, very nice dedicated grandmother and usually very careful about undermining the husband and me as parents. In normal times, I feel extremely lucky to have her so actively involved in his life. I can't lift the baby and he needed to be hoisted up to calm down. I'm sure she was trying to be helpful knowing my limitations right now. I am just going through some emotional moods as I encounter the very end of my rope.

Knowing that these are my last 10 (9?8?) weeks with baby Q before Miss Thang comes along, and wracked with guilt over why we are doing something that means extra stress on him when we are about to bring extra stress on him with Miss T's arrival AND when I already feel like I can't do so many things for him...whatever. I can clearly go on for hours. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I find myself in tears at least once a day. The not sleeping probably isn’t helping, either.

Of course I hit a low tonight feeding Q "dinner." We forgot pots and pans, so we have nothing to heat the eggs, beans, pasta and other warm things we brought (cheap pots and pans will be purchased tomorrow) from home. Pickings were slim in the fridge. Little Q got Cheerios for dinner. And there was something about that, feeding him cold Cheerios, which I found totally depressing. Especially since the hovel is pretty freakin' depressing on its own.

You guys SAID I could complain. Oh, wait!! Good news! I will end on a good happy note.

I had an appointment with Dr. Cerclage today. Ultrasound showed cervix over 4cm. Dr. C was very pleased. His eyes twinkled with joy as he congratulated himself on his great stitch. Dr. Cerclage really is an original. I congratulated myself and he congratulated himself. Win win. I will be 31 weeks Friday☺

Problem of Fortune

I swore I would not complain about this issue because this situation truly is a problem of fortune. I recognize that. I do, I really, really do.

We were able to buy a small house in SF several years ago. An old, paint peeling off the walls, tile coming up off the bathroom floor, Victorian type SF house. When we moved in we said that we would do some "work" at some point. While not bad, the place needed a face-lift. We put our TV stand, a TV stand bought at a garage sale 10 years ago, in the corner of the living room. We declared, "this is just a temporary spot" on move in day. We saw the curtains leftover from the previous owners. "Ug" we said. “Those are horrible.”

Needless to say the TV stand with its hulking TV perched on top remains in it’s “temporary” spot, as do the gross curtains. There was never a point in redecorating because we knew the whole place needed a paint job and why design for this gross paint when we’ll need to change it anyway?

Soon after moving in I became pregnant. Then I was not pregnant. Then I was pregnant again a few months later. Then we were new parents. And finally, when Quinn was not quite a year old I became pregnant again. Here we are. This time we decided to try to deal with our house before becoming a family of 4. We probably started the process in September/October. Meaning, we started talking about what to realistically get done. Decisions were made and contractors blew us off. 5 contractor conversations and the holidays and holy shit it was late January but the project began.

I promised I wouldn't complain. After all, it is a problem of fortune to be able to repaint the interiors of your house and retile your bathroom. But then I learned we have lead paint in our old Victorian built over 100 years ago. And I observed even without lead paint a lot of chemicals are swirling around when people are “refurbishing” your old original doors (what is "bondo" anyway?) These smells gave pregnant mommy a headache and heart attack as I worried about my 17 month old child and my unborn child breathing in the fumes of our problem of fortune.

Our pediatrician took it in stride, noting that many a family has repainted an old Victorian in SF and they actually don't see many consequences if the painters ventilate properly. My beloved Peri said "get out of there. I don't want you breathing that air." My anxiety level alone meant we probably had to move for a bit. We knew it was a probability anyway given that in this problem of fortune we decided to redo our floors too.

I told myself NO COMPLAINING. A lot of people do not have the resources to do such nice work to a house and your house will be pretty and shiny when it is done.

We're living in a hovel!! I am 30 weeks pregnant and we moved into a dusty shitty in-law apartment some friends are gracious enough to let us rent. We are sharing a FULL size mattress. Our belongings are in boxes. I am hitting the third trimester fatigue and I am beside myself! We have a hundred decisions to make everyday about tile and paint color and insulation. And, in the meantime, I had to move all my belongings, maintain my job, be a mommy to a toddler and do it while hugely pregnant.

Who the hell thought this was a good idea to do in the last 10 weeks of pregnancy??? Pregnancy with a toddler?? A toddler you can't even pick up????? WHO?? WHO??? Oh, that's right. I did this to myself! I said to myself that if we didn't do it now, and then managed to have a newborn, the TV stand would stay the way it is for the next 5 years. It was just driving me insane. But now I realize that I must have been insane when I decided to do this.

Don't get me wrong, though. I am not complaining.