Atomic Tonic

We had Kerry, Dan and Jack and Allison, Jesse and Sam over last night for New Year's Eve. We ordered Indian food.

The toddlers had some fierce naked time that resulted in the night peaking, excitement-wise, around 7. They were having a blast with the jumping and screeching and running. But then Sam took a dump on the couch and things got REAL fun for a bit. He did it all stealth-like and not one of us noticed. But then he told his mother he pooped just as Matilda jumped up onto the couch and missed sliding face-first into it by about 2 inches. And this was no small event. It was a steaming pile (with corn). We all put our hands to our mouths in shock. And then Niclas stepped on a wine glass (broke the glass, red wine all over the floor and Sam's clothes) when they were rushing to clean it up. It was hazmat material. Up in arms for a good 20 minutes.

Then things settled down. Sam went to bed around 10. Jack soon followed by falling asleep on Dan. Matilda, however, is made of nuclear powered non-pants and almost made it to midnight. I took her to bed at 11:30 and that was the end for both of us. But apparently the rest of the adults made it well past midnight (high fives, guys) and by the time Niclas got in bed, he even smelled like a distillery. Success!

I'm 33w2d today and still pregnant, so so far, 2007 is shaping up. Our living room, however, has seen better days.

Matilda wants to be naked all the time. The only reason she'll let us put clothes on her is so she can ask for us to take them off. "Naked time?" And then as the layers come off, "I naked!!" The naked time, it makes her so happy. So it's no surprise, really, that her current favorite book is the one about Totte and Malin getting their kit off.

We're well into the toddler body obsession over here. It's Naked Time all the time and lately we've been discussing how everyone poops. Mama poops! Papa poops! Dampa poops! (Sorry Dampa.)

The hippos poop. The meow poops. Yup.

Toddlers are not for the squimish.

In other news, I'm 34 weeks pregnant tomorrow. This pleases me greatly as 34 weeks is a milestone in terms of preemies. 34 weeks sees less respiratory and sucking/eating problems and even better chances of survival. It's still premature. Its still got a list of problems and hurdles and I'm still hell-bent on making it to 37 weeks, but 34 weeks let's us breathe a tiny bit easier.

I'm usually a glass half empty kind of person, but in this situation, I can't bellieve how lucky we got. If I hadn't had contractions one night during week 31 that made me call the doctor on call and if I hadn't requested that the midwife give me an internal at 31w5d and if she hadn't given me the fFn swab test, I wouldn't have known I was in danger of going into labor and I wouldn't have had the steroid shots. And I probably wouldn't have paid so much attention to the contractions that sent me to the hospital.

If I hadn't paid attention to those early contractions, by the time it became impossible to ignore them, it would have been too late. We could have a 32 weeker right now that would not have had the benefit of steroids. And she probably would have been born at our local hospital that does not have a NICU capable of handling a 32 weeker.

Things could be very different right now.

But everything lined up just right and tomorrow I am 34 weeks. And we're not safe, not entirely, until I hit 37 weeks. And 37 is really only considered term for twins. She is not. But we made it two more weeks. That's something.

I've joked with a couple of people over the last two weeks that men would be much better at bedrest than women. They tend to take it easier in general so being "forced" to lie around on the couch wouldn't be so far from what they like to do anyway.

Haha.

The reality is, this is hard. It's depressing. It's only been two weeks. I know I'm lucky across the board here. We caught things in time and avoided full-blown labor at 32 weeks. The longest I could be on bedrest is another three weeks, five in total. I'm already 34 weeks and if I go back into labor now, we've managed to avoid the really bad statistics and the worst of the possible preemie issues.

But it's still getting to me. I have no idea what's going on in my house. I haven't seen the insides of our fridge since the night before I had the contractions. The majority of our Christmas decorations are still up. I don't know if we've got more toilet paper in the basement or not. My mother is here on the weekdays to help and clean and cook. She's put her own life on hold to manage mine. She's the reason why a portion of our Christmas stuff has been put away. She bought more toilet paper. She cleaned out the old food in the fridge. She's doing double time everything. I hate that I need that help. I hate that when she asks me where something is, I now have to say I have no idea.

I had Niclas go to IKEA yesterday to pick up the remaining stuff we need to finish the new kid's room. He managed to get some of it but not all (Why? Why is it impossible to get everything on your list in one trip to that place? Maddening). He showed me his purchases last night, including a rug and drawer pulls. I had to fight the urge to go upstairs and set things up. I can't even see the drawer pulls in place, assuming he gets around to putting them on the dresser today, until I go upstairs to bed tonight. I spent a lot of time in the first and second trimesters getting the new kid's room together as much I could. It's still not finished. At this stage, I need to accept that it's not going to get finished. That is hard for me.

I can't finish packing my hospital bag. I can't get myself a bottle of water. I can't pick Matilda up. She hardly ever asks me anymore. She didn't want to get in the shower with me this morning because she knew I would not pick her up and hold her in the stream. She choose to wait and get in the shower with Niclas.

Lying all day is uncomfortable. My backside hurts. I'm getting towards the end of pregnancy so I'm big and unwieldy and prone to getting stuck if I roll onto my back anyway, but I spend my days lying down or at least propped up. Moving requires more effort that I care to admit. Getting up to go to the bathroom is slow and calculated and I hate feeling the weight of myself. I'm going to end up heavier at the end of this pregnancy than I was with Matilda. I was lighter at the start of this one than I was with her. I'm not going to be able to walk around the block, nevermind join my running club for 8 miles on a Saturday. I am, quite literally, a human incubator and nothing else.

I'm not a superstitious person. I'll walk under ladders or step on sidewalk cracks or do nothing more than shrug if I break a mirror, but I'm hesitant to admit that I just don't like being pregnant this time around. I didn't mind it with Matilda. It was all new and exciting and I had time to read weekly pregnancy growth charts. I had time to sleep. But this pregnancy has just been kicking me in the face from the start. I felt like I had the flu for weeks. I never had a second-wind or a rush of energy in the second trimester. I've just felt run-down from about week seven. I've bitched a lot about pregnancy this time around. I am looking forward to the day when I'm not pregnant anymore. There is not one inch of me that wants that day to come before at least January 27th, but I am looking forward to the end and my recovery like a kid looks forward to Christmas morning.

Which, speaking of, is something I didn't get to see this year. I did not see Matilda on Christmas. It was my choice as I didn't want to drag the poor kid into a hospital on Christmas. She spent the day and night at my parent's house. She had a great time and I am glad, but I'm sad for myself. This was the first year where she got the concept at all and I didn't get to see the culmination of it.

She's out with Niclas right now, running around Target or going to the museum. The weather is Spring-like and lovely (which does not bode well for the future of humanity). I am lying on the couch like Jabba the Hut. I am sick of myself.

We've been busy watching our baby turn into a kid over here. I call Matilda baby all the time (I also call her peanut butter, peanut pie, cheesecake and pumpkin pie) and yet, she was never a pumpkin pie and is no longer a baby. She is a kid. We can ask her what she wants for dinner and she will yell into the kitchen to whoever is standing there waiting for her requests "Uhh. Soup and yogurt and milk and grapes." She starts a lot of sentences with "uhh." I don't think she got that from me. If she was starting her sentences with "Oh for fuck sake," well. That I could probably take credit for. But the "uhh" seems to be all her. There's a lot that's all her. That's the kid part.

I know she's had a will since she was born

but the will now has a vocabulary and mobility. The will has a memory and movie requests. The will now has bona-fide friends and different relationships with those friends. The will has "her people" and sweeping hand gestures. The hand gestures destroy me with the cute, but it's her relationships with people that really take the cake.

We lie in bed at night discussing what she did that day and it always comes down to who she saw. New Year's Day it was all about Sam as she'd spent that morning and the previous night with Sam, hysterical with delight and full of "hoppa hoppa hoppa" on the couch and the air mattress and naked running and screeching and man, those kids wore each other out.

Last night we discussed her people Jack. Jack is a year younger. Usually Matilda skates right over the younger in search of the older, but she likes Jack. She brings him up out of the blue. She pays attention to him when they are together, which is not a given. With some kids, she knows and talks about them but ignores them when given the opportunity to play with them. But Jack. Jack she's got a thing for, I think. She tries to take his hand and walk with him, but Jack isn't that steady on his feet yet so that doesn't work so much. But she tries. And she remembers him. She sweeps her hand through the air and talks about "my people Jack."

She talks about all her people. Her people Pepe and Mimi and Megot who she hasn't seen since the middle of December.

She talks about her grandmothers Ninnie and Emmie and her grandfathers Wacka and Dampa. She initiates these conversations. She brings up her cousin Ryan to tell me "eat ice" and "I eat water" because the last time she saw Ryan, they ate ice cream and Ryan goaded her into eating her bathwater.

She also tells us periodically that "all people eat" and "all people sleep" and now, of course, "all people poop." All with grand sweeping hand gestures.

Matilda and I hitched a ride to my parent's house Thursday evening. Change of scenery and all that. Yesterday, Allison brought Sam up to visit Matilda because they are deeply in love.

Allison read them a book. Sam was interested but Matilda had heard it all before so she halfway through she requested "Daf an a haf" (A Giraffe and a Half).

A bit later, Matilda got naked just in time for lunch.

After the half a naked lunch and playing in the two forts (Sam requested his own) under the dining room table, the crying jags started to get a little closer together so Allison put them both in the crib.

Things started off promising enough. Matilda went over the ground rules with Allison. "No jumping? No bounce?" Allison confirmed that for her and went even further in telling them to lie down and be quiet. She left them alone and we all listened in on the baby monitor. Didn't take long before we heard the *binga binga binga* of two toddlers gripping the railing and jumping and bouncing. So Allison went back in and went over the rules again. More lying down. More sshhhing. She left and there was quiet. For a few minutes. Then there was heavy breathing and the sounds of blankets rustling and story telling and, soon enough, *binga binga binga.* We sat it out for a few minutes to see if they'd settle down. But when Sam started in with the "mommy mommy mommy" and Matilda backed him up with "mama mama mama," Allison finally went back in to find that they'd opened the door and bounced the crib halfway out of the room. Sam had pooped which required a change. The change got messy when he managed to stick his socked foot into the dirty diaper.

Aaand, that pretty much ended the sleepover. Everyone came back downstairs. The kids got back in their forts. Matilda wacked her head walking from her fort to Sam's, again. Sam borrowed a pair of Matilda's socks that caused Matilda to lose the plot. Left her brain behind and dissolved in a puddle of hysterical crying. Over a pair of red socks she could hardly be bothered to wear herself (She naked, afterall).

And that was that. Allison took Sam home. Matilda continued the epic screaming jag until she passed out with exhaustion. Later, at home, once his shoes were off, Sam looked down at his red socks and asked his mother what happened. What happened, indeed.

My friend Pupipanu posted a comment on a Flickr photo of Matilda that pretty much sums it up.

"Dear Diary, The winter days are beginning to take their toll. The bleakness of my existence when I am not being pushed on a swing or sleeping with my head on my mother's head is not to be believed. If I told you of the depths of my despair when Sam was wearing my socks, you would weep for me, so great is my suffering. I dream of palm trees and pooping giraffes; they are my only comfort."

I'm thinking we're going to need to start looking at real estate in California as Matilda is clearly not a fan of the dreary. Plus she wants to be naked all the time and I'm worried about frostbite.

35 weeks, 2 days pregnant and winter is finally showing some leg around here.

My parents arrived this morning to pick Matilda up for the day and girlfriend could not get out of the house fast enough. The second my mother put Matilda's bag down by the door the child was all, "BYEE!" "...BYEE!" "...BYEE ALREADY COME ON!!"

The kid, she loves to leave. Always up for a short good-bye and see you later alligator. All smiles and big waves and one foot out the door before she's even got her shoes on. I can't blame her as our living room currently looks like, well, a hospital room.

And what fun is a parent that can't chase her around the kitchen or get down on the floor and throw Smurfs off her barn or, you know, get off her fat ass at all? It's getting to her, this sentence of bedrest. Much like it's getting to me. I'd have been just as excited as she was to say bye and run out the door this morning.

I won't go that far, but I will admit that I've been planning my bathroom trips around other things I can pick up/put away/grab from the fruit bowl. On my way to the bathroom for a shower this morning, I stopped in the doorway of the new kid's room to check out the progress. While I was waiting for the water to heat up, I cleaned the toilet. Yesterday, Matilda and I were downstairs alone for a bit while Niclas got some stuff done upstairs and took a shower. Matilda wanted a yogurt and instead of calling up for help, I got up and got it for her myself. And then I went to the bathroom. But then I sat right back down. I promise.

January 23, 2005 - pregnant with Matilda:

January 23, 2007 - pregnant with the new kid:

I'm officially off bedrest as of midnight. Unofficially, I got off bedrest two days ago as it was driving me up a tree and right back down again. All that resting was working a little too well. Not only had the real contractions stopped ages ago, but the Braxton Hicks ones had pretty much called it off as well and seeing as I'm hugely pregnant and also just plain huge, I didn't want to take it so easy I'd end up being pregnant for another 6 weeks.

So I had my 37 week check-up today where I had to request to be checked. Niclas and I both decided beforehand that there would be no change (see above re: all contractions coming to a full stop) and we were right. 37 weeks pregnant, 3 cm dilated, 80% effaced and given the greenlight to resume normal living, including exercise. Aside from the smallish human being I'm carrying around doing a number on my back, the idea of exercising actually sounds great. Wonderful, even. I've been having pretty elaborate fantasies about running. I see the streets and the corners and the turns I used to make on my runs flip through my brain like flash cards. I can almost taste the end of a run. The endorphins and my body at peace. How deserved some stretching and a shower feels.

Unfortunately, the reality is that walking up and down the aisles of a drugstore makes my back sore and my inner thighs throb with pain. And because I can hardly waddle up down the candy aisle, my muscles are tense and wound-up and restless. Because I am 9 months pregnant, I cannot sleep. Going for a run would help all of these problems immensely. And therein lies the rub. I'm not physically capable of running right now. I haven't been capable of it since sometime around week 25.

I've been on bedrest for 5 weeks. I am very grateful that I did not give birth at week 32. I'd be even more grateful to give birth now, soon, very soon, before next weekend, ANY DAY NOW, now that I'm in week 37.

The very end of pregnancy can bring with it a host of things signaling upcoming labor. The first time I did this, the bodily signs went right over my head. I wasn't even 40 weeks. I wasn't that uncomfortable. It was my first pregnancy. I assumed I'd go over my due date so when my body started to empty itself, I didn't pay attention. The night before labor started, my back hurt but I didn't think anything of it. I was nearly 10 months pregnant. Of course my back hurt.

One thing that was absent from the days leading up to my labor was the nesting. We'd gotten all of that out of the way in the first and second trimesters as we'd moved into our house just as I was missing my period. Since we were painting and moving anyway, we continued on and did Matilda's room at the same time. The walls were painted and the furniture was assembled. The tiny clothes were washed and folded away in her dresser months in advance. The hospital bag was packed. We were set. We spent the last month of that pregnancy watching Law & Order re-runs.

This time, I did the majority of the new kid's room early on. But now, in week 37, it's still not complete. It requires yet another trip to IKEA.

My hospital bag is packed for the most part, I guess. The tiny clothes are folded into the new dresser but that's only because this kid is a girl so we already had the clothes. I'd say we're 85% ready, house-wise, for this kid to make an appearance. I'm 110% ready to not be pregnant anymore, but my body, the very one that was so anxious to expel this kid at 32 weeks, is now holding tight. No bodily signs aside from the aching back, but then again my entire body aches.

I have the desire to nest. My brain thinks another trip to IKEA sounds fine. It's all for cleaning the kitchen floor and vacuuming the living room and making skor bar for the L&D nurses but I can't seem to drag myself into a standing position to accomplish any of this. The insomnia is doing a number on what should be my waking hours. I feel like I'm wearing a suit made of lead. I sit on the couch and glare at the toast crumbs on the floor and the piles of laundry. Looks like labor is nowhere near.

Matilda has her first cold of the season. I'm annoyed as she's clearly uncomfortable - runny nose, red eyes, mouth-breathing - and I'm sure I'm next, but I can't complain, not really, as this time last year we were well into months solid of sick and cranky and ear infections and antibiotics. This kid was so sick for so long I forgot what it was like when she wasn't sick. We'd finish one round of antibiotics, wait a day and head back to the pediatrician for another round. Her ears gave her a break once every week and a half for about 12 hours. It's a wonder this kid has any language skills at all, considering how much time she spent not being able to hear. (But boy does she have language. Two of them.)

Speaking of two. Tomorrow she is two years old. She's gone from 5 lbs. 13 ounces of screaming crank to 23-ish pounds of jumping running nipple-twisting naked-loving poached egg-eating comedy gold.

She makes jokes. She tells stories. She loves the water and doing things herself. "All by self." She needs everything. "I need that." The spoon and the coffee beans and the laptop and my cell phone. She needs that. She currently needs the paints a lot. She'll start off with brushes on paper but sometimes a stretched skin canvas is too much. "Paint tummy?"

(37 weeks, 4 days pregnant)

Sometimes going blue in the tub feels right.

She's getting more self-suficient. We went to a Toddler Brunch last weekend and I realized that 5 mothers of toddlers were sitting around the table having an actual conversation. The toddlers were in the kitchen chasing the cat and in the playroom reading books and in the living room taking apart a train track. They were, for the most part, visible. Mostly near each other as apposed to interacting with each other, as toddlers do, but they were breaking off from their parents for periods of time to do their own thing.

Two is sort of a relief. Sure, she can bawl her eyes out at a moment's notice if she doesn't get what she "needs," but I'd take two over one anyday. Two is "I naked!" and "Jump! Bounce!" and "No jump with baby" and "Nap on face?"

Two is "Help?" - either she needs it or wants to offer her services. She helps me make dinner and requests that we bake cakes and demands we sit right *here* while she bakes ice cream in her oven and fish in the frying pan and adds more soy sauce for taste. She teases her Dampa with crackers. "Can I have one?" And she grins and shakes her head. Eats the cracker herself. She takes over the bedtime stories and reads them to us. She currently wants the potty in the middle of the living room floor. Earlier today she propped her baby up on it and wrapped it in a blanket. She laughs when she farts. She's been sleeping till 7. She's been wearing her "cow boots" everywhere as they are good for stomping.

She just woke up for the second time tonight (head cold, coughing) and after lying with her for a minute, I asked if she wanted to come sleep with us. "Ya." I told her I needed to go downstairs for a minute but then I'd come back and get her and we'd all go to bed together. "Okay?" "Ya."

She's two. She's lying in bed waiting for me to come back and get her.