Fall Has Officially Fallen

On Sunday, Mom, Bob, Stephen, and Asher managed to pry my sorry, pregnant butt off the sofa for a few hours of autumn celebration at the local pumpkin patch. Asher had fun playing on all the toys, wandering through the corn maze (which we were delighted to find our way out of...until we discovered we'd exited through the entrance), taking a hay ride to the pumpkin patch and picking out a couple of pumpkins, and sipping on cider. His favorite part, by far, was looking at the farm animals. He liked petting the goats and quacking at the ducks, but the crowing roosters were, by far, tops in his book. I had to stand by him for what seemed like eons as those stupid birds cocka-doodle-dooed. That was apparently the funniest and most fascinating thing he'd ever in his life experienced. Watching him imitate them and belt out repeated belly laughs was the funniest and most fascinating thing I've ever experienced.

We had a very nice time welcoming Fall, especially considering the fact that the temperature was only in the mid-fifties. All of us broke out our heavier jackets, gloves, and hats. All of us except for Stephen, of course. He was perfectly comfortable in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved polo. WEIRDO.

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12 Weeks Gives Us a Happy Anniversary

Some people seem to think I've crawled into a hole and died this past month, and really, they aren't too far off. I've frankly been way too busy to keep up in the electronic world recently. Busy throwing up. Busy feeling like I'm going to throw up. Busy trying to figure out what the hell I can eat because if I don't eat something RIGHT NOW my stomach will growl and will make me throw up but I can't find anything to eat because EVERYTHING makes me want to throw up...So, essentially, my battle is deciding whether I want to vomit from hunger pangs or from the smell or taste of food.

We found out on August 15 that we're expecting another baby in mid-April, and I swear that day I started feeling the symptoms. That's about a month and a half of feeling like pure death warmed over. People have asked if I was this sick with Asher, and honestly I'm not sure. It's funny - I loved being pregnant with Asher, and now that I'm going through it all again, I think I must have been high to have loved this! Of course, what I remember most about my previous pregnancy are the last two trimesters - after the sickness phase was over and I could feel Asher move around inside of me and I watched my belly grow plump. You tend to forget the horrible parts. I'm hoping I'll eventually have another pleasant pregnancy once this stage is over. I think the bad symptoms have been a little different between pregnancies, though. I had horrible nausea with him, but I didn't throw up too much, and when I did, it was usually due to my gag reflex being on overdrive (stupid toothbrush). This time around, the vomiting is FOR REAL. Plus, I've had horrendous heartburn, worse than I had in my ninth month with Asher. I was flat-out exhausted the last time and just wanted to sleep all the time. So far with this pregnancy, I'm physically exhausted, but I don't feel the same type of sleepy-tired that I felt last time. My appetite is the same as last time - food in general sounds disgusting to me and I'm literally having to force myself to eat. It's definitely been more tiresome going through this with a toddler to deal with, but luckily I have the best husband and mom ever who have made it so that I hardly have to lift a finger when it comes to taking care of Asher. Stephen takes care of everything from bathing to feeding to appeasing Asher in the evenings, and on the weekends, since Stephen works, I've been going to Mom's and allowing her to entertain and care for Asher while I moan and groan from the sofa. It's pretty pathetic and I'm not exactly proud of myself, but what's a sick girl to do? One thing that has been good about having Asher around while I'm going through this is that he is living proof that my sick days will end and it will all totally be worth it in the end. All he has to do is flash me one of those goofy, cheeky smiles, and suddenly I don't feel like jumping out of the window anymore.

I think the end of the worst of the first trimester woes is nearing, though, THANK YOU, GOD. Over the past couple of weeks, I've slowly felt my energy levels increase, I've been able to eat a little bit more of a variety of food, I haven't been throwing up as much, and nausea doesn't consume my body every second of the day anymore. I had my doubts, but I think I might make it through this, after all.

As is to be expected, most people are primarily concerned with the gender of this baby and this turns out to be the focus of most conversations I've had about my pregnancy, whether it be their prediction regarding what it is or their curiosity regarding what we want, or even their opinion as to what THEY want us to have. Since we had a boy the last time, of course nearly every single person is certain that we will/should have a girl this time around. Honestly, I feel the exact same way I did last time I was pregnant regarding this issue - and even more strongly since I just witnessed what my dear friend went through when she lost her babies during pregnancy - I JUST WANT A HEALTHY BABY. I love having a son and would be very happy if Asher gets a little brother to play with. A girl would be great, too - I'm just a little concerned I might spend a bit too much money shopping for her! We won't find out the sex for a couple of months, but rest assured, I'm not going to lose any sleep hoping for one gender over another.

It's funny - I assumed because I'd been through this before that I wouldn't worry much this time around. I feel almost like I worry more now than I did during my first pregnancy...maybe not about things like nutrition or sleeping on one side as opposed to another, but more about all the things that didn't go wrong during my first pregnancy that SURELY in my mind will go wrong this time. From the health of the baby, to the delivery, to having a pretty good-tempered baby, I got lucky once, something's got to give this time! And then I worry about silly stuff like not paying enough attention to Asher, "cheating" him out of love and time, messing up our family's ecosystem with a new addition...all those worries I've heard most people have during their second pregnancies.

Today we had our second prenatal exam. The first one was with the nurse practitioner, so this time we got to meet our new doctor (we weren't impressed by any means with the doctor I saw during my first pregnancy). She is AWESOME. I think I'm going to love her - she is soft-spoken, calm, sweet, has a good sense of humor, listens and encourages us to ask questions and actually talks to us, and just overall makes me feel at ease. Plus, she is around our age and has two boys who are four and two, so she seems to really "get" all the concerns we have. My urine checked out, my blood pressure checked out, my weight was down a little from last time, but that's normal with all the nausea, and my uterus "felt great." We got to listen to Doodlebug's heartbeat for the first time, too - which was very strong at 166 beats per minute - MAN, talk about hammering the nail of reality in my heart. I'M NOT TERMINALLY ILL AFTER ALL! THERE REALLY IS A BABY INSIDE OF ME! It's funny how much those few seconds of listening to a swish-swish sound has changed my outlook and put things into perspective. All of this suffering has a purpose. A person is growing inside of me and it's just as magical as it was when Asher was in there. Now that I've heard the proof of my unborn child's existence, I'm overcome with feelings of excitement and happiness. Those feelings of IS IT EVER GOING TO END and WHAT THE HELL HAVE I DONE are quickly diminishing. Today is our seventh wedding anniversary, and what a perfect gift this was for the both of us.

It's hard to imagine me being a parent to two children; sometimes I feel like I can barely keep up with one. But even despite my feelings of guilt from bringing another child into Asher's world, I know it's going to be a wonderful thing. Asher will have a playmate, someone he can confide in and complain about his crazy parents to. I really do think he'll love having a sibling, and I know Doodlebug is going to be very blessed to have him as an older brother; it's just a matter of me getting past my motherly guilt that I'm so full of.

One thing is for certain: they were right about showing earlier after your first pregnancy. Here I am, just barely twelve weeks along, with a baby bump clearly making its presence known. Yes, I've already broken into the maternity clothes!

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When Good Drugs Do Bad Things

Poor Asher Bug. A few weeks ago, he came down with a cold that only seemed to get worse, so we took him to the doctor and found out it was developing into an ear infection. The doctor prescribed him a strong dose of Amoxicillin, which he was supposed to take for ten days. The cold cleared right up, and Asher quit tugging on his ears after a few days.

On the evening of day seven of his medication (last night), I noticed a few red bumps on his cheek and legs. I didn't worry much about it and figured they were bug bites. This morning, however, red welts had taken over his sweet creamy complexion. After another trip to the doctor, we were informed that Asher is allergic to Penicillin. Although he'd taken it a few months ago, that dosage was not as strong as this one, so it caused no allergic reaction - or, at least, none that we noticed. The doctor said the symptoms of this type of allergy usually don't appear for 5-7 days, which is just great, considering the fact that, had we known sooner, we could have quit his medicine sooner. Like I didn't feel bad enough forcing him to take that horrible tasting medicine in the first place - now I feel like I've been poisoning him. A mother's guilt is a wonderful thing.

We're to give him a teaspoon of Benadryll every 4-6 hours for the next three days and he should be just dandy. Of course, he hates the Benadryll - maybe even more than he hated the Amoxicillin - so at least we weren't freed of the joy of tormenting our child. We aren't completely horrible people, though; we're going to give him oatmeal baths every night until his rash goes away, which he really seems to enjoy.

My poor boy looks like a burn victim. I hope it clears up soon.

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He's Got Rhythm

We were upstairs playing this evening when "Everything" by Michael Bublé came on the radio. Asher stopped what he was doing to perform this lovely little dance:

Now we know he has good taste in music and sweet dancing skills.

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Triking

The Easter Bunny (aka, NeeNee) gave Asher this (pre-)tricycle for Easter. For whatever reason, probably mainly because we're ungrateful bastards, it's mainly just been collecting dust in the garage. Tonight I decided Asher needs to learn to ride it. Why? Because the messes he causes with his crayons, balls, and push toys have become so predictable. He's ready for a new weapon of destruction. And I'm just plain crazy.

He still hasn't fully caught on to pedaling - I think he's perfectly content to have Daddy push him around - and the steering system frustrates him to the point of madness. That's right - about five minutes after this snippet was taken, this angelic, smiling little boy picked up his trike and threw it to the floor because he couldn't figure out how the steering worked. What a lack of patience. This boy is not my son. No, not at all.

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Nineteen Months Old

He's made it past the hump and is now closer to age two than age one!

I'm finally finding myself starting to replace the word "baby" with "boy" or "son" or "child" when referring to him. And I haven't even had to force myself. Wow, it's like the realization that he's growing up is sinking in and isn't being completely rejected by my mind. Maybe there is hope for me after all? Maybe Asher won't have to battle his mother to allow him to take someone other than her as his prom date! Well, now I'm getting a little ahead of myself, aren't I? I really don't want to make any promises I can't keep.

This has been a really super fast month; I don't know where the summer has gone. One day it was July 4th, the next day, it's August 5th. I don't know what we've done over the month - it's really stupid, I honestly can't recall! I feel like I'm in a daze lately, just going through the motions like a robot. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the fact that I'm so tired lately; I'm not sure if it's a slight case of insomnia, or stress, or just the fact that I've been staying up way too late. All I know is, I'M TIRED. Of course, it could have absolutely NOTHING to do with the fact that I live with a little guy who makes monkeys look lazy and sluggish.

Asher's eating is the same - particular and finicky - but I've just about given up on caring. You only want to eat three kernels of corn and a lick of your chicken for dinner? Fine by me! I've realized that if I think of him as having five small feedings instead of three meals and a couple of snacks, I feel better and more relaxed about his eating habits.

He is talking more and more. The vast majority of it you cannot understand, but he is a nonstop chatterbox. He points at just about everything and always has something to say about it. I'm enjoying this because this is the brief stage when everyone thinks he's so cute when he's "talking" and that overweight man sitting next to us cannot understand that Asher is calling him fat. He's imitating what we say so much now that I'm trying my hardest to break my fond addiction of swearing. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make after hearing Mom's story about me, as a toddler, calling a woman a bitch at the grocery store.

What I'm really loving, though, is watching Asher's interests blossom. Of course he's into everything right now - a shredded piece of tissue on the floor is pretty fascinating to him. But there are definitely certain things that peak his interests more than others. He LOVES to color and draw. He LOVES to play ball. He LOVES to play with his Megabloks. He LOVES reading - and lately he seems to enjoy reading to himself more than us reading to him. His biggest obsession of all, though, is MATCHBOX CARS. He carries these cars around with him everywhere. Every night I find them all (or most of them) and put them in their bin. Every night I have to do this, because he spends every day meticulously scattering them through the house. One on my bed. One on the nightstand. Six lined up in a row in the bathroom. Two on the windowsill on the landing. Four down the staircase. One on the sofa. Three on the kitchen floor. And when he sees the full bin of cars that I've gathered, he shrieks and runs over to it on his tippy toes with the biggest, most excited grin I've ever seen and starts taking them out, one by one, and showing them to me, one by one, all the while giving me a lengthy description of each of them. Geesh, this kid has it B-A-D for cars and trucks. I think he'd be in seventh heaven if he could sit at a construction site all day and watch the equipment move things around and the dump trucks haul stuff away.

OH...THAT explains why I've been referring to him as a BOY lately instead of as a BABY!

Here are the pictures from July.

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The Battle (One of Them, At Least)

I sometimes feel like we have no routine or schedule in place, but I've just realized we actually have a very strict routine, one to which we adhere almost too well: Parents clean, Baby messes; Parents clean, Baby messes; Parents clean, Baby messes. Get the point? Every evening either during Asher's nighttime snack or after he goes to bed, I pick up all the toys, arrange all the books in nice piles, stand up the knocked-over picture frames, put away all the food from the pantry he's moved to the coffee table...basically, I try to make it look like the Tazmanian Devil hasn't been kicking the house's ass all day long.

And then I come home from a long day at work and I do a double take and - WOW - I must really have been high the night before because I SWEAR I picked all this stuff up! I mean, same messes, same locations - it's eerie. Stephen took these pictures yesterday of the perpetrator in action.

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