Anniversary during Open Season

I'm still here. I'm still pregnant. I'm sadly absolutely useless to my friend Persnickety when she really needs help, and I forever feel guilty about that because I owe her some favors like big time.
And from what I can tell, being pregnant makes it open season to lots of people.
Apparently some people were COMPLETELY unaware that I was growing a human. Those that know me, know my kids have all been hiders and sit on my back till they run out of room and have no choice but to make their presence known to the rest of the viewing public. I bet you're asking how that is even possible considering the expanding form (my facebook friends can see the progression since January). Well the thing is, at work, if I can use the fart cart I do. If any store has it, I use it. So me sitting on a cart kind of hides the already hide-y baby belly that is there.
What? You mean just growing a human can't possibly be that arduous? I even got asked by an old man at the grocery store "what's your disability that you have to use the cart?" I told him that I was growing a human and she was doing things to my body he couldn't imagine and walking was damn near impossible for me right now. He then moved on to questioning why I was buying whole milk instead of just a box of powdered and putting water in it because it was just the same. He's lucky my dad is his age and I understand the history of these Depression Era thinkers, and I didn't snap his hairy ears off his head. Thanks Dad for teaching me to respect my elders, too bad the lesson wasn't reciprocative for the elders to respect the youngers.
For the past month and a half or so, walking has been not only difficult or at times impossible, but just moving was painful. After talking to a couple other preggos on my online board for other September due dates, I diagnosed myself with this thing called SPD or symphasis pubis dysfunction. Short story of it all, given my history of pelvic girdle injuries and the associated misalignment, plus the weight of a parasitic human and her warm, watery habitat, plus preggo hormone relaxin, equals one really over-stretched ligament/tendon between my pubic bones.
So that pretty much explains the horrid sciatic pain that prevented me from moving. I had some days better than others, but there were plenty of days I just wanted to cry from it - the pain and the frustration. One of my OBs suggested compression on my hips and I consider her a total God-send for suggesting it. While it didn't make the pain go away, it helped tremendously. It helped push the bones closer so the overstretched ligament wasn't getting away with shearing off the bone. The general recommendation that came from the other OB (who I prefer not to see but that's another rant elsewhere) was for physical therapy. I can only guess this guy thinks chiropractors are quacks or something. Not even going there, just praying that if I don't change providers this far into the human growth process, that this particular scientifically degreed individual does not do the baby catching. However, I disagree with him and started calling chiros on my insurance. The ones I called and that came recommended by others were hesitant to take me on as a patient this far into the game without my having prior chiro care. Understandable and I'm not going to fault them. I get it. I knew the problem I was having was due to misalignment, and I could FEEL as much when I moved certain ways in my attempts to alleviate things myself. I will just go to a chiro postpartum and get myself realigned as the case merits. I must have moved in a good way a couple weeks ago because after stretching a direction I hadn't tried before, something in the pelvic region moved and popped a bit. The next morning I was rolling over to get out of bed and somehow managed to get my hips to pop (and it was not painful- it was actually relieving!) and I have been able to walk again relatively pain free since. I do have to mind how I move, and how long I'm on my feet etc. However it's been a much welcomed break from the literal pain in my butt I had for many weeks. I prayed daily to St Gianna for help getting through that agony.

My nesting energy has been spent working, so I have been completely useless at home. The house has puked on itself as we try to get ready for Thumper's arrival. Devildog is the one that got the Clone's bedroom ready to accommodate another human of sisterly kind. Persnickety and another friend gave me enough clothing and linens that this baby is dressed till Kindergarten and I am NOT exaggerating. At that point we still have Clone's stuff, and I'm sure others will pass on the wealth later as needed. Here I was giving stuff to Clone's old daycare, the women's shelter thrift shop, and others I knew personally that could make use of things as Clone no longer needed or used them. Silly me, should've known another human would appear huh?

"When are you due?"
-September.

"WHAT? No way! You don't look that far along/that pregnant/pregnant at all"
-um, thanks? I sure as hell FEEL every bit as pregnant as I really am. Waddling since May, Devildog called me ducky. It's now my answer when someone asks "how are you?" They're not paying attention and think I say "yucky". Here's a q-tip, clear the wax.

"Don't you know what causes that?"
- YES! We're good at it, and we've had 17 years of practice! (Happy Anniversary of our First Date, my baby daddy!)

"How many is this?"
-This is baby #4, girl #2. Teams are tied.

"How old are your other kids?"
-RW is 16, Beast will be 15 two weeks after I'm due, and Clone is 7.

"Oh WOW, you spaced them apart didn't you?"
-Well they were all surprises and we didn't expect the timing or spacing, but the bonus is built in babysitters and helpers, and the older ones are self-sufficient enough that if I am unable to do something, any of them can do it.
(and yes, even the Clone can do her own laundry, take a shower, dress herself, get her own PB&J sandwich, salad, yogurt, drink or almost any number of things. I am big on kids learning basic life skills so I can go back to being a slacker mom. I robbed myself of my adolescent years having RW in high school and Beast right after I graduated.)

"Well are you or your husband going to get fixed?"
-I didn't realize anything was broken, nor did I realize Devildog and I were of canine variety. Can someone hand me a towel, my tongue is bleeding from biting it so I don't ask people if they're going to get the rectal craniotomy reversed.

Prayers for the Bonny Blue House

Mary Ellen's son went missing from a father/son camping trip. As it turned out, he apparently had a seizure and fell into the creek where he was standing near, and was later found downstream. Please keep the family in your prayers.
http://maryellenb.typepad.com/tales_from_the_bonny_blue/2009/08/urgent-prayers.html

All hoped up and nothing accomplished

I swear I had blog fodder. It's written in my datebook, on the pages of the calendar from about 2 weeks ago. I'd hoped to have it regurgitated to you by now. I may have lost the mo required to post it, but we'll see soon enough.
It's at that point I'm going to lose my ever loving mind. Near-end of this pregnancy. End of summer. School isn't in session yet. Resets are about to start at work. I don't know if my boss has someone to cover the stores I've asked to be taken out of as I reduce my workload before Thumper arrives. Devildog works this crazy stupidity-inducing shift. Kids are stir crazy. Devildog finds something to do away from home on every one of his days off because quite honestly even I don't want to be here. The house has vomited all over itself. Between a friend BL and Persnickety, Thumper will need for nothing, and be well dressed to boot. I mean I even have a big bag of shoes for Pete's sake.
I hoped to make progress with this mess of a shoebox before mid-August, so I could just focus on the next few weeks at work, and getting the kids ready for school. So like a full on ADD brain, I start hopping around from project to project and never finishing any of them. Start working in Clone's room, fizzle out because I want the crib assembled so I can put baby stuff in it to get it out of the way for now. Well...do we use Clone's Crib4Life, or do we take someone up on their offer to give us their crib they no longer need? Since I have this butt load of baby stuff, I need to sort it by size, wash it, and wait...
Where are we going to put the baby's clothes, because cardboard boxes just are not going to work even though I have TONS of them. I have this dresser I scored from the curb, and Clone staked her claim on it, down to the wood stain color she wanted, so Thumper can use the shorter longer dresser (which comes in very handy as a changing station with one of those contoured pad things on it. This was all her idea, so I'm just going to let her think that she came up with it first. I'd already been thinking about it but was trying to tread carefully for fear of catching Clone on a "Thumper-can-just-sleep-in-the-living-room-on-the-futon" kind of days. Anyway, Devildog tossed out the last spitfull of paint remover some time ago (against my better judgement) and I lack the proper scraping or sanding tools to get through 8 layers of paint still in the nooks and crannies of this dresser. I'm mangling woodwork at this point with a razor blade, but I also don't care anymore. I just need this crap done. I can't do this work in the house, it's too cramped and makes a huge mess with the Ryobi rotary tool (think "dremel"), and sandpaper, and scraping of paint. I have almost all of it done but this project was easier when it was still cold outside versus the "hades on your doorstep" temperatures we get in August. As soon as I can stain that dresser, it's getting done, come hell or high water (please Lord, not BROKEN water-yet at least..or contractions either).
I've pulled out more work for myself than I can manage in a short time, and at this point, I just don't care anymore. Except, I still need a place to put this human who likes to party under my ribcage at varying hours of the day and night - most notably 1 and 2 in the morning. Oh yes, and she has a penchant for giving me heartburn at the most *opportune* times too. She's gotta stay put a little longer though, and hopefully in the time I have left before she exits the oven, I can make a sizable dent in the mess. I can deal with laundry later. However, right now, I need to get the stuff my house puked on itself cleaned up without losing my mind. My August calendar is chock full of other things that are going to physically wear me out as it is.
I'm not even going to start on the eminent danger the computer is in of dying for lack of sufficient RAM (working on that), the annoyance of the children and Devildog's schedule, and the other family drama of sheer stupidity that is swirling around me. Nor will I whack my head on the brick wall that is Devildog refusing to even look at baby clothes because he just isn't ready. Can you see my eyeroll? It's so far back that I really can see what the kids are doing behind me. God love my husband, he's apparently STILL shocked some near 30 weeks later, despite the visible evidence of another human's presence inside my own.
So, all I've accomplished is a bigger mess, a lot of grand plans of marvelous theory, and annoying my ENTIRE household with my insane ADD nesting. This is nothing like I'd hoped it would be at this point in time. nothing.

Now...if you'll excuse me, I *KNOW* I saw a waiter somewhere around here with a tray of cheese. I saw some that would go wonderfully with my whine....

Mouth of babe moment

The other day there was some foolishness between the teenagers or something. I honestly do not know or remember what prompted things to get to this point, but it happened. It will always happen.

Clone to Thumper-in-belleh: "Thumper, do not EVER learn anything from our brothers. They're just no good!"

This from the same child who declared more than once that Thumper can sleep in the living room, even suggesting one time she could sleep on the futon.

For Christmas, can you just give me shares of stock in Garnier? I'm REALLY going to need it.

I have blog posts - I promise

I have been jotting things down to put in the blog. Here's the thing, I don't get to use MY computer like I want to because someone had to be homeschooled and hogs the machine all day acting like he owns it or something. I can not wait till August 24th, because the kids return to school. I'd do cartwheels that morning, except I have a speedbump and I'd bust my chops. RW WILL return to a brick and mortar building charged with imparting knowledge. I can't handle him being home all the time and it's been old since February.
I will however, finish compiling these blog posts of kid funnies and household "oh-gawd-what-now" moments and get them to you. I'm just busy trying to avoid going over the edge, and probably failing miserably with that task. My sleep pattern is absolutely screwed up too...and the growing a human part of things is not helping me sleep. Having to get up in the middle of the night to waddle to the bathroom, developing a nifty unofficially diagnosed thing with a medical abbreviation of SPD (some sort of pelvic displasia that makes it excruciatingly painful to walk, stand or even move), having to sleep in some strange way propped up by all the bed pillows to alleviate the heartburn while not causing more circulation or hip problems...ugh, I'll just spare you the rest. I'm just very grateful Moose told me about this pressure point for sciatic pain. I've used it extensively since the advice was dispensed.

the lesson? A person just does not realize how important hips are till they go awry and pregnant over 30 is absolutely FOR.THE.BIRDS.

Parental torture

We're different parents from most people. We derive mirth from torturing our teenagers. I knew someone was using my razor because I was getting razor burn more frequently and having to change the blades sooner. I just couldn't PROVE it, nor could I prove who was doing it, without expensive DNA testing. Last week I bought Devildog a new razor, because it was cheaper to get the "gift" kit on the clearance endcap at Target than refill razors. A $4 coupon helped convince me. Prior to my shopping endeavor I asked the boys about their razor preferences, throwing in a comment that I was tired of someone using my razor. RW slung back that he had been using Dad's razor, not mine. I advised Devildog of this, and he said he'd suspected as much, but chuckled, adding "I bet he doesn't realize what else I shave with my razor." Regardless of WHAT parts are shaved, it's just a total biohazard to use someone else's blade. I swear, I thought I covered that detail with them, but apparently it didn't register or they just don't care.

Devildog later told the boys about this aspect of using Dad's razor. Beast laughed and said to RW "Maybe that's why your face has been breaking out so much."

Happy Birthing Day to me

Nope, the Stowaway/Thumper hasn't escaped the oven yet. However the oldest brother has survived to mark 16 years of adventure. He was born at a ridiculously early hour, weighing 7 pounds, 6.4 ounces. The nurse weighed him and turned to ask me where I was hiding him.
I can't wait till he's an adult. I am going to set my alarm for that time in the morning and call him and yell into the phone "it's a boy!" and hang up cackling. Bwahahahaha!!! I'm such an evol mother!

Happy Birthday RW.

Something or someone is on strike

It's been a week since my last post and it was intentional. I have been fighting back a "preggo-meltdown" as I call it. No sense in boring my readers with the details and the one woman pity party I was making of it. Short story, my sciatic nerve is compressed and pinched even more and it has limited my movement even further than the whole "baby #4, mom over 30" issue was already. There are things going on with the physical house that are frustrating me. The other members of my household are prompting further frustration. The frustration is prompting me to be rather angry and cranky and really not pleasant or funny. It's hard for me to blog cranky. It's akin to grocery shopping before you eat breakfast. You come here to get a slight chuckle at the very least, not this whining BS that has been wanting to escape my brain via keyboard.
If you see me on the news, just know it was not unprovoked.

How's the weather for Dad?

I gave Devildog his Father's Day gift - a certificate for a 30 minute massage. If I could have gotten him an hour massage I would have, but it wasn't available. He looked at me and said "you need this more than I do". No, I need an hour and a half or two hour massage, mostly because my sciatic nerve is in varying states of compression.
I was in the room when Devildog was flipping channels between the NASCAR race out in the California desert and the Atlanta/Boston game in Boston. I almost envy Bostonians and other New Englanders with temperatures below 80 degrees. Here in Florida, it's been around 100 degrees. At 2:30 PM when I was eating my post-church lunch, Devildog flipped over to the Weather Channel to get the current conditions. It said real temperature was 97, but the heat index (you know what your physical person says the weather feels like?) was...are you sitting down in a safe chair? I'll wait, I really don't want to knock you over because the heat here does enough of that without my helping. Ok, as I was saying, the heat index - yea, 109 degrees. As in- Hell came out of its depths and decided to play in my neighborhood. It can return to rightful place anytime now, like yesterday would be nice. I am fine with 92 degrees, because that is a cakewalk by comparison.

This heat is enough to make any crazy person reconsider leaving the house. I know plenty of SANE ones that are hiding indoors too. And there's no leaving the house after dark either. At midnight it was still 91 degrees even. Hell hath no fury like its own presence outside your door.

Bravo Bug

I took Persnickety to the Pulmonologist yesterday, because she is on this narcotic cough syrup that causes things much like the effects of tripping on some acid or other illicit substance. I was allowed to sleep too late so my work plans got all mangled anyway. Why not just totally throw them out the window right? I finished working at one store and volunteered to schlep her to the shiny new doctor's office. Apparently in the 5 years since I moved from the large moldy apartment into this cinderblock crackerbox the powers that be made a certain roadway longer, and it now meets with another road that has been extended to meet the other one. Whodathunk it?
So I get in my mom-bus and there's a mosquito. I can't accurately take aim, so of course I keep missing the bug. I gave up for the sake of getting to Persnickety's house on time. In that 20 minute drive, my ankles became a smorgasbord of sorts. I carted Snick to the doc, and then since I was in the neighborhood of one of my service calls for the week, I dragged her with me for the sake of fuel efficiency. On the way, the pesky mosquito reappeared, after having its fill of my ankles. I tried smacking at it several times, and of course, with no success. Persnickety took one whack and caught the bugger.
She then turned to me and said "you can't kill it if you're giving it a round of applause"
Thanks Persnickety, for pointing out yet another inadequacy in my life: my ability to miss the target. Bravo.