In our house we have 'moo' and we have 'milka'.  There is definitely a difference between the two seeing as how one comes from Momma, and one comes from a 'dow'.

With that, I give you, the moo song.  Which is sung to me whenever moo is desired.

6 months

 

There's something about this thing called "pride".  Pride makes us think that we can do everything all by ourselves.  Pride makes us think that we SHOULD do everything all by ourselves, and that anything less is failure.

I guess right now that makes me a failure.

Back when Ephraim was born, I was hit by a pretty wicked case of PPD. We knew that the chances of getting hit again with the peanut were pretty high, but we also knew that we could get out of it eventually.  That it was a short termed thing.

Well, I think I went back on the drugs when I was about three months along.  I have an excellent doctor who could see the signs, and she prescribed them for us nicely.

We've had to up the drugs once, and now with four weeks to go, we are doing everything in our power not to up them again.

My support circle this time around is massive.  God has drawn this group of people around us that want to help, are willing to help, and won't take no for an answer.

Why should we say no?  Because of that pride issue.  I think that we are learning humility by having to say, "you know what, we're drowning here, we need some help."

My head knows that it's okay to accept this help at this time.  God created the body of the church for just a time as this.  And, who knows, in a little while, it will be my turn to gleefully give back to the church all that I feel like I am taking right now.

This time around I have really good friends who are taking over for me.  Who want to help and who insist on helping.  I've been told repeatedly that I don't need to do it myself, that this is a short term thing, that we'll make it through.

My head understands this too... it's getting my heart to accept that I can still be a good wife and mother while accepting help that is the hard part.

I am so thankful to be part of the body of Christ.  I am so thankful that He has provided these wonderful and loving people, people that have become as much a part of my family as my own parents (who are amazing as well!).

And yes, I will let you help me.

There's something about having more than one child.  After the first pregnancy, you can see some signs in yourself, some ways you become, that kind of thing. 

Not to mention that after the first pregnancy, going to the bathroom all the time gets old really fast.

You don't have any stomach muscles left to hold the kid up.

And the crankiness of late pregancy seems to increase tenfold with each child.

With Keyzia and with Ephraim, I became something of a hermit in the last month.  Not answering the phone, not wanting to go out, feeling a little bit postal if ONE MORE PERSON said "gee, how overdue are you??"

POSTAL.

ahem.

This peanut pregnancy has been tough.  Harder on my body than either of the other ones.  With Ephraim, it was the heat I had to deal with.  With this one, it's the not being able to take a step without hurting.  The reflux.  The aching in my very bones.  The fact that sometimes I have to look down and make sure my legs are still attached to my torso, because my joints feel so loose.

Add to that the emotional aspect of hormones racing like crazy through your body.

I remember my parents telling me the story of how my dad used to bring my mom home a chocolate bar from work every night.  One night he forgot, didn't have the money, or whatever, and my mom completely lost it.  We're talking divorce here, people. 

I can relate.

People always say to me that the no sleep is just preparing me for the no sleep with a newborn.  I think that's bull.  I actually sleep better when I have a newborn...

And so here we are, counting down with 6 1/2 weeks left. 

6 1/2 weeks.

Yet, I am so excited to hold this baby in my arms.  To feel her curl up against me... that precious precious trusting new baby.  The way that God gave babies that incredible baby smell that seeps into your senses.

I keep my eyes focused on that and it almost, ALMOST seems worthwhile.

On Fridays, fondly known around here as free food Fridays, we go over to the Early Year's Centre and get some free food!  The government has this program where you go and sign up, the kids play, they feed us a snack and lunch, AND we get to take home two bags of food and a gift certificate for a grocery store.  It's lovely.

What does that have to do with boobs, you may ask?  Of bellies, for that matter?  And where the heck does plaster fit in?

Well, at the EYC I met the lovely and wonderful Tara.  I have to admit that we bonded.  She makes and sells these gorgeous ring slings that I was totally drooling over.  Tara also completely understood that we were only having another baby so that we could use the sling again.  The bond of the baby wearing mother goes deep, I tell ya, deep.

ANYWAY, again, probably wondering what this has to do with boobs!  Other than the fact that nursing in the sling is awesome... hands free nursing, wahoo!!  But, I digress.

Tara has this neat business, The Better Baby Company, and they are coming out with a new product, today, I believe.  It's a belly casting kit, and she begged (okay, not really) me to use my belly for instructions, test run, etc, for the kit.

Tara and photographer Brendan descended on me last Tuesday night arms full of medical grade plaster, camera and various other things.  (Hey Tara, next time?  I like the mocha's from Timmy's... heh heh heh).

After a brief tour of our colourful house, when Tara didn't even flinch at the state the kids' bedrooms were in (I knew at that moment she was a kindred spirit), I stripped down and greased up.

The first step was to completely coat my belly with vaseline.  For this part, I left my bra on... extra warmth, perhaps?  One thing I would do differently, is wrap the vaseline right around my sides a bit more.  When the cast came off, it did pull on the sides.  Oh, and lift the boobs, people!  Lift the boobs!

Tara was busily at work cutting up the plaster strips, I reclined on a kitchen chair (note for next time, more comfy pillow for my butt....) and the plaster was applied.


Tara had to dip the strips into the bowl of water then kind of skim the excess water off...  much like wallpapering.

((Oh yah, see that mole on the bottom right of my tummy?  Well, that used to be right next to my belly button... nice, eh?))


The idea is to keep building on the plaster.  Kind of like paper mache... You have to keep criss crossing the strips so that it builds up a strong layer.


Here's a hint!  If you raise your arms up a bit, your boobs get perkier!  ((ha!))


Yes, one of my boobs is bigger than the other.  Here she's just doing the finishing touches.  Smoothing, reinforcing, that kind of thing.  You want it to be nice and strong so that it doesn't break on you when you take it off.

It was a bit bizarre, it got really warm as the plaster was setting, but then it got quite cold under there.  We had to wait for about 15ish minutes for it to set, and then Tara popped it right off.  Totally cool.

Things that I would do differently?  Better butt pillow.  More vaseline on my sides, and shower directly afterward.  My skin is super super sensitive, and the plaster left behind on my skin was a bit itchy.  It was fine by the next day though.

A totally neat-o experience, and now my belly will be famous!


Go buy a kit.  And while you're at it, get a sling too, wouldja?

((Oh, and yes, I will sign autographs.  heh heh heh.)

Keyzia, in her non-obtrusive inquisitive way, has asked a couple of times about how the baby is going to get OUT of my tummy.  She asked Ja once, and he totally and completely wussed out and gave her some kind of "it's a lot of hard work for momma" answer.  The wuss.

Yesterday I was sewing the last of the size small cloth diaper stash, and Keyz was colouring and chatting with me.  I was only half paying attention to her, we were talking about how the baby would be coming out soon*, and we would get to hold her.

Then she springs the question on me.  "How is the baby going to get out of your tummy, momma?"

So, not believing in lying to your kids unless it's about how chocolate will make their hair turn green, or about how the double stuffed oreos are all gone, even though I'm really just saving the entire last row to eat myself...  I told her that the baby would be coming out of my vagina.

Keyzia put down her crayon and looked at me in horror.  "Your VAGINA?"  she asked.

I told her that God would make my vagina get bigger (although not nearly big enough for squeezing heads out, thank you very much), and that I would have to work very hard to get the baby out.

My daughter, my beautiful chatty intelligent four year old was rendered quite speechless.  She stared at me for a few minutes while I patiently waited for more questions.  Then she just shook her head and furiously started colouring again.

Sorry, mom, I think that the great grandkid train might have to come from someone else.

 

*The most DREADED question is, of course, "How did the baby get IN your tummy?"  I think daddy will be answering that one.

A little more than halfway there... 

I have a respectful bump now.  Not just looking fat, but actually look like there's something in there.  Lots of movement (especially at night when I'm trying to sleep... stinking kid...  proves who the father is, that's for sure!) 

I had my checkup this week.  On Monday, I think it was.  Turns out that having three babies in 4 years is a tad tough on the body...  my pubic bone is already killing me.  It hurts to lift up my legs.  My boobs are ginormous (Ja's not terribly sad about that!).  Oh, and headaches quite frequently are the order of the day.  The chiropractor does wonders for that, however.

Another odd thing, I don't know if you can see it in this picture, but I've always struggled with this nasty red acne on my face.  Especially on my chin.  It comes, it goes, it gets worse, it gets better.  I've probably had it for more than ten years.  I've tried so many acne treatments that it's nutty.

I figured since I was into the dr anyway, that I'd ask her if there was anything I could do about it.  She took one look (I had purposefully not put any makeup on), and said that it's rosacea.  Something that can only be treated with special antibiotic cream or other stuff.  My options are limited because I'm knocked up, but she did give me some cream samples to try.

I've been using the samples for just a couple of days, and while it still has a ways to go, it's looking so much better.

Gee, guess I should have gone to the dr's ten years ago, hunh?

16 weeks???  Woohoo!  Only 5 months to go!

As those of you who have spawned, as good 'ole SJ says, "crotch fruit", you know that every time you go to the doctors, you get to pee in a jar.

As an aside, does anyone realize how difficult it is for a woman to pee JUST in the stinking jar??  Especially after having kids?  Usually I pee on my hand, on the jar, around the jar, and am lucky to catch some in the jar... bah.

Ahem.

So, yesterday was my 16 week checkup.  We didn't get to hear the heartbeat at the last checkup, so Ja really wanted to go to this one.  That was totally fine with me!  Especially seeing as having two kids with you while at the doctors can be... well... a bit stressful at times.

I was waiting for the lovely nurse to swipe my health card and Eph came tearing up to me, announcing that he had to go pee.  Off we go to the bathroom, and me, always thinking of multi-tasking figures that I'll just do my deed at the same time.  Makes sense, right?  Already IN the bathroom... might just as well!

Ephraim was quite fascinated by the fact that I was actually peeing IN A JAR.  "In a JAR, Momma?"  I explained to him that the nurse needed to make sure the new baby was healthy and that she needed my pee to do that.

He was pretty satisfied by that.  Usually explaining something to him helps him out a lot.  Especially if he seems to understand.

We go out to the waiting room, and I go back to the nurse's desk to get my card swiped.  Eph runs out to Ja... and, in his VERY LOUD toddler voice announces to the entire waiting room that "there was PEE!  In a JAR!  And it was Momma's Pee!"

Have I ever mentioned the volume of this boy's voice???  He is LOUD.  He has no control over what he's thinking coming directly out his mouth.

After much laughter, by everyone in the waiting room, he announced again about the pee... then was distracted... "Something smells like donuts!  What smells like donuts, Daddy?"

sigh.

In other news... the peanut and I are both healthy, we heard the heartbeat and we have an ultrasound scheduled in a few weeks.

Also?  It's a good thing that giving birth and breastfeeding takes away all vestige of modesty.  It prepares you for the loud mouthed nature of an intrepid two year old!

Keyzia drew this picture of me after we told the kidlets we were going to have a new baby.

Don't I look gorgeous?  I especially like that my arms come out of my ears, and that I am a QUEEN!

In case you can't see it, in random order it says MoM hAS A BABY.

 

((frequent photo postings are thanks to Flick'r!!  Why did no one tell me how easy this was before?  My photo page is here.))

I'm not sure if you're aware, but I married a wonderful man just a week shy of seven years ago.  Oh don't get me wrong, I certainly don't think he's wonderful all the time (especially on those nights when the snoring... the snoring!!).

He, however, never ceases to amaze me.  How when I can't really pull it together, he does it in spades.  He becomes Super Husband!  Conqueror of the known universe!  Protector of wife!  Buyer of yeast infection treatments!  Dasher outer for cold medication!

He's some kind of man, my husband is.  We've known each other, been together as a couple, for close to fourteen years.

He still laughs at the same jokes I told him fourteen years ago.  He still thinks it's funny when I let a rip roaring fart go.  We still laugh and giggle together like crazy.

With the ever creeping closer birth of the peanut, he is proving to me everyday that HE is the right man.  That God put us together.  That God intends for us to be togehter, and for us to conquer the world!!  Well... maybe not that last part...

This peanut has been kicking the ever loving crap out of me.  No energy, not sleeping, the moodiness that might cause another flood in Peterborough...  and he has stood strong through it all.

He has run to Shoppers on his lunch break and asked for a yeast infection treatment without so much as batting an eye. 

He has gotten up with the kids at night, even though he has to go to work in the morning.

He has held me when I cried, even though he can't understand where the tears are coming from.

The poor man has listened to me whine about the aches and pains that come with pregnancy.  Teased me into smiling when I don't feel like it.  And most of all been that bright ray of sunshine when it seems that the clouds just aren't going to clear.

He does all this while going to work every day.  While suffering under the pressure of a very very busy job.  Then he comes home to us, puts on the daddy/husband hat, and works his butt off around here.

Honey, you certainly do deserve a cape.  And I promise I would never even think the alternate to Super Husband!