Fat Guy in a Little Coat

Being pregnant is not fun during snow storms. I mean if you don't like snow storms, then it never would be fun, but then maybe you should live somewhere where the chance of snow is not likely at all, like Mississippi. You thought I was going to say Florida, didn't you?

If you don't live in the Northeast, then let me just tell you, we have had a lot of snow this winter. Like we live in Wyoming or something. We are not talking flurries everyday, in fact it doesn't snow everyday, but when it does, it is like the sky just opened up and a dump truck just decided, hey this is where we will put it all. SPLAT! And we have like 75 inches of snow on the ground until June.

This of course is the worst part, the clean up. Where do you put it all when it doesn't melt? We need to ship it to Mississippi so those kids can go sledding or something.

So back to being pregnant...in the snow.
During one of the storms, I can't remember which one, my husband turns to me and says, 'you are no fun, why don't you put on the snow stuff I got you and come outside and play?'


If he didn't notice, which is nice if he really didn't, my girth is about 20 times the size it was 7 months ago. I think I would look like the biggest fool with my pants hanging wide open, zipper down, jacket flying open in the wind. What comes to mind when I picture this scenario in my head is Chris Farley in, 'Tommy Boy,' where is sings, 'Fat Guy in a little coat...'

And then I would have ripped my jacket, and no one would have been happy.

So my options are pretty limited. I can't go skiing. I am always pregnant in the winter, and so I have not been skiing in years. I am hoping it is like they say, and it is just like riding a bike, or a horse, you just get on and go, like you never stopped. But since I was wobbly on both attempts to complete these activities after some time off, I am certain I am going to break a leg.

I cannot go sledding. I think people might call child protective services if I attempted this. There is something completely wrong about a pregnant woman sledding. Beyond the risks, I think it would look pretty ridiculous, and in all honesty, I don't think I would be able to stand up without first rolling around on the ground like some beached whale, attempting to gain some leverage.

I cannot ice skate. Well, I can't ice skate at all to begin with. A funny thing happens when I go to put on ice skates, as I am lacing them up, dementia comes over me, and I think that I can ice skate. I then stand up and start wobbling on my ankles like I am on some tight rope or something. You would think that there would be more support involved in those stupid things, like a brace or something inside the skate. How does those girls do it? They make it look so easy. Perhaps that is why I think I can skate when I am strapping them on, how hard can it be, I couldn't do it last time, but maybe I can this time. Every time I am wrong and never make it out the door with them on...since about age 20.

The good thing is is that I cannot shovel, well I am sure I can shovel, but it's not really recommended that I shovel, and since it is not very fun to shovel, there is no way you will see me out there shoveling. However, when overdue with Kendall I decided that I was going to shovel, and you better believe I was out there hauling snow. No baby came. What a waste of time.

The worst part about being 8 months pregnant and it snowing is the getting from here to there in this deep snow. I actually think that Andy needs to get me a little sleigh that I sit upon and then he pull me and all my things to the van and back. So what if I weigh 535 pounds? And so what if it is 50 feet? I will tell you I am ready to pass out after going up the two flights of stairs in my house, getting from the door to the van in 3 feet of snow makes me just want to fall over and give up, I am thinking of purchasing a white flag and painting in bright red layers, 'HELP ME!', on it and just carry it with me whenever I am outside because I am bound to pass out one of these times.

I feel as though this winter I may have instilled a dislike of snow in my children since I am not all gung ho, lets go build a snow man and stay outside until we can't feel the tip of our nose anymore all kinds of excited to get on out there. I mean they go out in it, but it isn't that fantastical scene where they scream and run all over the house because it is snowing and they can hardly wait to get out there. In all honesty, I line all the stuff up, after I have searched all over the house for the missing glove, line up the children and dress them, and then when it is done, 45 minutes later we are all a grumpy mess of sweatiness. I have my work cut out for me next year, they must love snow, what child doesn't?

My children, enjoying the snow with their friends, see I don't keep them cooped up.

Same with dear Stanley.

He loathes the snow. He looks out there when he really has to use the facilities, turns back and looks at me like I have lost my mind, and is then instantly shuddering in fear because he knows he can't hold it anymore. It must be rough having to stick your rump in something freezing just to take a dump. He looks out the window when it is coming down and it is written all over his face...'I am not going out there one more time until there is something green for me to lift a leg to.'

When I finally get him out there, I feel just terrible. Look, you try to pick up a scent in that mess.

My first year of college, I went to a wilderness college. I am sure if you didn't already know this you are laughing, saying, 'yeah, and I don't believe that for five seconds.' But I really did, great year, I am sure I will go on more about that later. But more importantly, one of our assignments was that we were to go winter camping in the snow, and sleep in igloos that we made. I know. I hated every second of it, and compare it to the same sort of torture as putting thin pieces of wood under a toe nail. Really it was that bad. But I now sympathize with my dog, and having to have your fanny right there; hovering over or possibly on the snow in the freezing weather. It's cold. Real cold.

But he does his business fast, and the picture you are left of is similar to all of us at this point with the snow...

You just see our tail end as we hurry back inside.

Thus producing cabin fever which has us dressing like it is 80 degrees and we are heading to Mardi Gras.


Earning my Cookie Badge

So it's Girl Scout Cookie time, well it must be because although I don't have a Daisy, Brownie, Junior, Cadette, Ambassador, or any full fledged Girl Scout amongst my cherubs, I do have 2 boxes of cookies, compliments of my sister for my kids for Valentine's Day.

And let me tell you that these over priced, tiny boxes of cookies are just wonderful. Presently we have the Peanut Butter Patties, which also are known as Tag a longs, and the Thin Mints. Thin Mints are like a staple aren't they when it comes to Girl Scout Cookie Flavors? Everyone has their favorite that they purchase and then they throw in a box of Thin Mints just because.

Were you a Girl Scout? I was, well I think I was for like 3 or 4 years, and then it wasn't cool anymore. Because things are awesomely cool and not cool when you were growing up, and then you come to find out later that those things that weren't so cool pay for college, get you a good job, etc. I was a Brownie first and remember crossing that little wooden bridge into Girl Scout Land, and that was about it for me. Now when I was a Brownie I specifically remember Girl Scout Cookie time. I also remember my best friend and I scrambling when it was about 2 weeks before the badge ceremonies to make up ways to get our badges like our rank in the eternal Girl Scout land depended on it.

Oh, but aren't the uniforms just hideous? I mean seriously, when you put on that ugly brown or green thing it might as well earned you the,'I know I am dressed like a Loser,' badge. Poor things. I can remember watching,'Troop Beverly Hills,' and thinking; 'Why can't I have a uniform like theirs? Why can't we do fun Girl Scout activities like they do, Why can't Shelly Long be one of my Troop Moms?' Maybe if I lived in Beverly Hills I would have been a Girl Scout longer, who knows.

Let's face it, these Girl Scouts, really have an edge over the Boy Scouts when it comes to the selling of food products. I mean they may be able to tie a mean knot, get you out of the wilderness alive, and 'Be Prepared,' but they sell Popcorn. What does that have on Girl Scout Cookies, really?

One year my mom was 'Cookie Mom.' This granted her the power over all cookies for our troop. Boxes of cookies were stored in my garage, this is a chubby prepubescent girls dream. Ok, so it was baby fat, no really actually it wasn't, but whatever.

My favorites are Carmel DeLites, or Samoas. Why do they keep changing the names? This is not a very effective marketing strategy, but I guess the Girls Scouts of America Association didn't ask for my opinion. Should have. Because had they asked my opinion on the cookies in general, I would have said, keep the names, and put more in a box. Really,there is like 5 in a box, with the exception of Shortbreads and Thin Mint, they really pack those suckers in and you get your money's worth. And on the subject of unacceptable name changing of Girl Scout Cookies, Shortbreads are also called Trefoils. What in the world is that and how in the world do you say that? You see what I am saying? And in reference to the amount in the box, when you sit down with your Carmel Samoas DeLites and battle with your inner fatty whether to just finish the box or not, you begin to curse the Girl Scouts, 'PUT MORE IN THE BOX, DARN YOU, YOU GREEN DRESS WEARING TROLLS!' It's that serious.

What is the price of Girl Scout cookies this year anyway? I think it is about 4 bucks a box. If a buy a case of Samoan DeLites do I get a discount? I am not knocking the Girl Scouts here entirely, in fact I think it's a wonderful activity for today's youth. I mean where else can you learn and earn badges for hundreds of wholesome activities, like 'Home Improvements' and 'From Stress to Success'? Mind you none of them involve the, 'Wearing your Uggs properly,' badge or the 'Your Skinny Jeans and You,' badge. It's a shame that being a Girl Scout isn't cool, upon further research, they really do attempt to produce wholesome, self-sufficient, well rounded women, but if they could just give me like 5 more cookies in a box, that would be great.

The best part about being a Girl Scout is that no matter when or where, you can always remember the pledge, its unreal, get your three fingers in position and recite after me;

'On my honor, I will try to serve God and my country, to help people at all times, and to live by the Girl Scout Law.'

Buy a box today.


And now she is 4...

Over this past weekend my little girl turned 4. 4!! That was enough to make me want to run to a stack of her baby photos and weep about how she has grown too fast. I mean in reality, like her mother suffered through, she doesn't even have all of her hair yet, and she still has a little fence on her bed so that she doesn't fall on the floor, but this is going to be her last year with me at home. No we don't kick them out 5, but she certainly won't be home with me all day, this is just the start of the process of leaving the nest, and I can't bear it.She is going to be going to preschool in the fall, she is going to start reading her own stories, she is then going to be five, and you know what five means...kindergarten. That is not humanly possible. That happened way too quickly. She is going to learn how to write her name soon, and I am going to cry my eyes out.

A few months ago we began discussing her coming birthday. Kendall LOVES her friends and she knows that at birthday time she can bring them all together to one spot. The shear prospect of this is enough to send her into fits of excitement and anticipation. I asked her what she wanted to do for her birthday party and she said a sleepover. Hmm... Her friend Juliana had just had one in the fall when she turned 5. I tried to pull this excuse with her, 'Well Kendall, Jules was turning 5, you are turning 4.' To which I got, 'So?' Good point. So I go to run this by her Daddy, because certainly I can pin the fact that she can't have a sleepover on him. He just says, 'ok.' Thanks pal.

Equipped with the fact that we are going to have a sleepover, when it comes time to plan the party, I tell her that we are only going to invite her closest friends. She starts rattling off this list with names of little girls I don't even know. We begin to narrow it down, and with her brother in the mix, we have a list of 8. Well 9, if you include her friend Sarah, but she could not come due to the devastating fact that she is allergic to everything. No, seriously, Kendall has already said that she will sit with Sarah at special tables at school. That's friendship people.

So leading up to the party, like every child, Kendall asks daily, 'Is today my party? How many sleeps until my party?' Isn't this just so much fun? I couldn't get her to function to complete any tasks on the days leading up to the party, unless it was, 'Today is the day,' it was of no importance to her.

So we had the party and it was, 'Little Girl Fest 2010.' We played Barbies, we whined, we dressed up, we watched princess movies, we ate candy and got really hyper, we threatened to never be each other's friends again, we cried when it was time to leave. It was a success.
Stanley enjoying the movie, 'Ella Enchanted,' with his special buddy for the night, Gabby.

And personally, to those that think it may be too young to have sleepover. I will tell you this; way easier then when they are teenagers. And here is why: At 11:30 p.m., I told these lovely ladies that it was time to get into their sleeping bags and go to sleep, we shut off the lights, and after a brief discussion between two of them about turkey bacon, (don't ask me), they were asleep. Another convenient thing was that I did not have to ship off her brother. When Kendall is 15, Ethan 14, there is either going to have to be the shipping of one to the grandparents for the evening, or he or she will have to wear those electric shocking dog collars that don't permit them out of their room. This being the only downfall of having a boy and a girl so close, the teenage years. So being young and getting in the birthday sleepover parties now, is something I favor.

Kendall had a fabulous 4th birthday, with a trip to the little girl spa with her aunt on friday afternoon, a sleepover that night, a nice birthday nap, dinner with Mom Mom and Pop, which was her favorite; tuna fish sandwiches, and then a family party that night.

Growing up way too fast.


My appointment with Snow White's 8th Dwarf

I sit here in my third trimester looking as though I could just about birth a 15 pound baby at any moment. I am officially uncomfortable.

I get that I am to eat so that this monster inside of me can thrive, but after I consume anything I literally feel as though my stomach is just going to bust open at the seams and explode all over the place. It's a bit of a graphic scene in my head, but don't worry, the baby is fine.

Today I went to the doctor. Saw the micro machine man. No really this doctor moves at a wickedly fast pace all of the time. And talks at warp speed. He delivered Ethan and in the throes of labor pain I asked him if he ever slowed down, and if he drove his wife crazy. He of course is efficient, I mean Ethan's birth was flawless, but just the same, every time I have an appointment with him it is like I have entered a cyclone and spit out in the reception area when it is all over. He's lucky I like him, and that he also looks like one of the seven dwarfs, otherwise we may have some issues to work through. An ob/gyn who talks a mile a minute and just may be the 8th dwarf, I am ok with this? Once again I will tell you that when you are in labor, you don't care who is on the receiving end. Preferably someone who can catch is the only requirement.

My appointment goes something like this:
I calmly get my blood pressure and weight taken, turn in my pee, and then I am led to the examine room by the nurse.

I literally step up on the little step to have a seat and he is in the room. Talking at least 89 miles an hour:
'O.k., everything o.k., any questions, concerns, what's going on, you feeling alright?'(At the same time, he is scanning the chart), 'Alright, looks good, had the 3 hour glucose, ugh, I hear that is as boring as watching paint dry, but you passed, so any thing else going on that I should know about? This is the third right, wow, you must be tired, oh look, who is this? Kendall, did I deliver Kendall? No, too bad, that's o.k.,the other doctors here are o.k., are you o.k.? And then he takes his first breath.

'Let's see, you are taking your folic acid, let me get a listen, lean back, whoa this sucker moves around a lot, huh? Your weight and blood pressure look good finally, that is good? You have any questions? April 25th is the due date? Wow, this one is going to be a big one, definitely over 9 pounds I am thinking. You o.k.? Let me measure the belly, yup definitely over 9 pounds is my guess. You think you will go early, no you didn't with your others, well that's o.k., you give me a call on the 26th alright?

Mind you, I have not said a thing other than, 'uh huh,'still.

'O.k., there is the heartbeat, you are in your third trimester so I should see you in 2 weeks. Yup, you will be 31 weeks then. Time flies when you are having fun. O.k., you o.k., have any questions for me? Any concerns?'

ME: 'I don't think so.'

'O.k., then you behave yourself and stay out of trouble and we will see you in 2 weeks.'

I look down at my belly and am reassured that there will be no getting into trouble since I move about as fast as a slug and am already knocked up.

As Kendall and I are standing in the reception area making my next appointments, he whizzes by, 'alright Diane, babies to deliver, see you tomorrow,' and he is out before the receptionist can even answer him.

God bless those women writhing in pain at that moment waiting for one of the doctors from the practice to arrive and put them out of their misery and extract a child. They are about to experience birth with the 8th dwarf, Speedy, before they can even bat an eyelash.

I will not be seeing him in 2 weeks mind you. I will see another doctor in the practice whose name Andy thinks is just hysterical in a 14 year old puberty stricken boy sort of way. I can't say the name on here, wish I could, but ask next time I see you ask me, or ask me on facebook, I suppose it is a bit of an unfortunate last name.

So dwarfs and weird names? I am ok with this? Well I have 2 children that lead me to have faith in them. Listen, they give me the o.k. for the epidural a little early, they listen to me whine about wanting to me induced when I am a week overdue, and they present beautiful and healthy children to me, what's not to like?

So unless there is an abdominal explosion here, I will have at the very least 11 weeks left. This is when I start to panic and look around the house, the baseboards that need wiping down, the baby stuff to gather. I don't even have diaper rash cream, and I want a new boppy, and I need to find a sling I like, and I really want two body pillows so I can sleep at night comfortably. Please, someone.

Someone tell my husband to pick two of these up for me, with pillowcases at Target, PRONTO! All I want is for my hips to have a break. Is that too much to ask?

This child also needs a coming home outfit. And am I really going to breast feed and pump? Cherie needs to get over her and provide me with a very candid tutorial on working this pump, which right now looks like a torturing device. I need to make room in the freezer for frozen breast milk. Yummy. Do I really want to feel like a cow? And I need to prepare meals, and I need new binkies. Why is it that with Ethan it all came together? Oh that's right because I had a baby already, it's been three years. A lifetime, well for maybe a bird, but still. Where is my swaddling blankets? And where is that thing that sucks boogers out of noses? And this kid needs socks, because Lord knows who ate the others, there are no matches.

See, see...this is why you stop at one. This is why in India pregnant women live with their mothers until birth. It's insanity.