twenty five

I’m twenty-five weeks pregnant.

I’m also hot. It’s not even truly summer yet, and I don’t tell fortunes, but I foresee a lot of lying around by the pool in my future. Of course, it would be nice if I had a super padded comfortable lounge chair under my bum, a virgin piña colada by my side and a fabulous novel in hand, but odds are good I’ll be sitting on the concrete edge of the local kiddie pool making sure my three cherubs aren’t drowning, fighting or otherwise getting into mischief.

The baby weighs about a 1 1/2 pounds and is about 14 inches head to toe. I was astounded to learn on my cable glut this past week in the hotel that the teeny-tiny baby Josie born to the Duggar family on “19 and Counting” wasn’t as old when she was born as our baby is now.

Our baby bops around a lot and I just LOVE feeling him or her roll and flip in my womb. It is no less thrilling even though I’ve been through this three times before.

Brielle has been positive she can “feel dat baby walkin’ around in dere!” but oddly, she never keeps her hand on the belly long enough to actually feel any movement.

It’s so exciting anticipating what it will be like in 100 days or so when he or she makes his or her appearance.

Here’s what I looked like when I was twenty-five weeks pregnant last time.

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There are no words.

I really don’t know what to say.

Should I talk about going to the farmer’s market this morning and the hilarity of my girls eating a ginormous caramel apple, so big it required two sticks and corn-on-the-cob style eating? How the caramel covered all 20 of their fingers and both noses and all four cheeks? How I am so completely enchanted by childhood and the exuberent way my children attack life?

Should I talk about how mightily I enjoyed watching my twenty-two month old splashing in the buff in the wading pool? How adorable he was, doggedly filling his bucket and pouring out the water, over and over and over? How I sniggered to myself when he tried to put his boy parts into the garden hose?

Should I talk about the books I’ve been reading lately, or the 10¢ copies of old Real Simple magazine I’m enjoying from time to time when I have a spare minute?

Or about the super delicious strawberry shortcake we had for lunch today, with strawberries plucked this very day?

Or about how I planted two tomato plants and dug out some thistles and got very very tired?

Or about how beyond thrilled I am for my dear friend who is on her way to Bulgaria to bring home her new daughter, a daughter we’ve been praying for for years?

Or should I talk about how my sister and brother-in-law are moving far far away today and taking my children’s only cousins with them? How I’m completely woebegone that our and their relationships will never be the same? How I’m at the same time trying with all my heart to cheer them on, as they face this new endeavor and start a new chapter in their lives, even though it hurts like anything that it won’t include us?

Or should I talk about our trip to St. Louis and Springfield? How terrific it was to have pretty well behaved children on the long drives? How fun it was to see my brother? The enjoyment of going to the zoo? The pleasure of hearing Cadrian squeal his thirlled squeal every. single. time we went into our hotel lobby and saw the fountain?

How I relished spending time with my aunt Barb, just talking? Watching her cross-stitch with my daughter? How I luxuriated in someone taking such a loving, unqualified interest in me and my kids?

How I was entertained by my uncle Phil who knows so much about anything? How I learned about all the plans he has for their property? How I got all excited to try Square Foot Gardening, like he is? How inspired I am by all the remodeling projects he’s doing to their house? How amusing it was to watch my children interact with him? How much I’ve learned from him?

Or should I talk about the shock and the pain of arriving at their house for our farewell luncheon to find out my uncle had died? Died of a sudden heart attack at the age of 54? The man who was a fixture in our lives, in my aunt’s life? The man who she’d been with since she was 14? The man who had already survived so much?

I don’t know what to say.

There are no words.

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I have too much of it.

Jesus never owned anything.

Why am I compelled to keep five years of back issues of Country magazine? A bunch of my grandma’s dishes nobody in the family wants, but because we have the space to store them, I should keep, just in case? 30 +/- pairs of shoes? So. Many. Clothes.? That extra pitcher I need, um…never? A deck of cards that’s missing a few cards? TAPES?!? A juicer we used once which was exceedingly disappointing? Souvenirs from trips I took, or other people took, with whom I don’t even keep in touch? All. These. Books.?

Watch out family; I feel a purging binge coming on.

As an aside, if I lived in an RV, would I have to give up access to the library?

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The Public

Perhaps you wondered what prompted my breastfeeding poll?

There’s a new show on ABC called What Would You Do? On tonight’s episode, they will have actresses pose as breast feeding moms, and managers (also actors) berating or harassing them, to see what the other people in the restaurant or coffee shop will do. You can see a clip of the show here.

Kevin and I had a discussion about it, because he said he is a little uncomfortable knowing someone is breastfeeding, even though he is married to a lactivist. He was trying to make an analogy of, if someone was doing something sexual under the table, and you could tell it was going on, even if you couldn’t see it, you would feel uncomfortable.

While it’s true, I would feel uncomfortable in that situation; the analogy I don’t get.

Breastfeeding is NOT sexual. I think part of the reason people feel “uncomfortable” is because they just aren’t familiar enough with it, don’t see it, and can’t help but think of breasts as sexual entities. This, in my opinion, is due to cultural conditioning.

It’s unfortunate, but we have made bottle feeding the norm in this country, not breastfeeding. And the only way to make breastfeeding normal and natural again, is for more moms to choose breastfeeding as the option for their babies. For that to happen, women need to feel supported by their moms, their peer groups, and by strangers at a cafe.

For the record, I have never once, in my nearly 5 years of breastfeeding, been given any indication someone has been uncomfortable, or been made to feel like I am being rude by nursing my baby. And I have nursed everywhere. Literally. Everywhere. I use a neck to torso cover when babe is tiny and we’re both getting used to the process, so parts don’t show; but once we are both pros at it, latch-on takes place in under five seconds and I skip the blanket part.

And also for the record, if you tried everything to nurse, but couldn’t, this isn’t about you. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your nursing relationship.

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I do and I don’t

So last night, while completely wasting time on the computer, I took this quiz. I completely surprised myself by being right on the cusp of scoring in The Crunchiest of Them All.

I thought, “Hmm…that can’t be right, I don’t feel very crunchy.” (I’m still not sure why it’s called crunchy; I don’t even like Grape-Nuts and I’m pretty much allergic to tree hugging.)

So, I took another one to be sure. And the score was essentially the same category.

I still don’t think of myself as a “crunchy mama”, but maybe I need to revisit my philosophies.

I do make my own yogurt.

I don’t think I could live without meat. Mmmmm….steak! Mmmmm….bacon!

I do think James Dobson is a gift from God. (I don’t agree with this now–May 2014)

I don’t believe in Grace Based Discipline. (I do now–May 2014)

I do cloth diaper, most of the time, while at home.

I did try Elimination Communication with Aviana and may revisit it with Baby D.

I don’t have anything against disposies.

I do use Natural Family Planning.

I don’t circumcise.

I don’t recycle (much to my dad’s chagrin).

I do love to be barefoot.

I don’t care for Birkenstocks or Chaccos.

I did wear my pearls while working in the garden today (but it wasn’t planned).

I don’t wear a bra when I can get away with it.

I do color my hair.

I don’t like dreads.

I do love my make-up.

I don’t believe in much TV.

I do wear my babies.

I don’t vaccinate.

I do pop out the boob whenever baby is hungry, or needs comforted.

I don’t believe in much doctorin’.

I do believe in home remedies, natural remedies for what ails you.

I don’t take drugs if I can help it.

I do go to a chiropractor.

I don’t send my kids to school.

I do use natural, sometimes homemade, cleaning products.

I don’t shave.

I do love peasant skirts.

I don’t have any tattoos or body piercings.

I do believe in simplicity and minimalism.

I don’t always seem to live that out!

I do love to “help the earth” by reusing second hand items.

I do sleep with my babies.

I don’t mind resorting to letting them “cry it out” when they are old enough to sleep through the night, and need a little push out of the nest.


*throws hands up in surrender* I guess I just don’t know where I fit in!

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Oh yeah, that’s SO me!

I’m a vintage girl at heart. I’m pretty sure I would have fit right in during the 40’s and 50’s. I learned to cook and bake on my mom’s hand me down copy (from her grandmother) of Betty Crocker’s Picture CookBook, published in 1950. They re-released the cookbook some time ago and I am not sure I have been more excited since Gone With The Wind came out on DVD.

I pull it out all the time, because it’s really recipes from scratch, which I just love. It’s more healthful and cheaper too. Life was just better then.

Never mind the missing waistline. I’m pretty sure people in ’50’s ballooned up when they were in the family way too.

Today I made a pound cake, to make a trifle I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.

I wonder if I could get Kevin and some old people to go along with me for this one.

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Let’s see…What People Do All Day

Or at least me, anyway.

Woke up. Got snuggled on.

Got the kids ready. Got myself ready.

Went over to MIL’s to pick up Aviana who had stayed the night over there.

Came home after deciding to not go to the convenience store for a soda.

Had Bible time with fifty-eleven interruptions.

Random picture that has nothing to do with anything.

Read some “What People Do all Day” by Richard Scarry.

Kevin came in for some reason. The kids talked him into hanging up the hammock, so after much ado with shoes and such, they went out with him ‘to help’.

Whined a little.

I took another allergy pill and lay down for a while.

Started to feel a bit better. Checked Facebook. Made H—– Specials (French Toasted PB&Js) w/ carrot sticks for lunch.

Cadrian nap.

Read stories to girls. Assigned quiet time spaces. Sent them off.

Made new ties for C’s crib bumper, sewed them on. Fielded questions and interruptions from Brielle every 2 minutes. Then Aviana joined in. Got her started on embroidery.

Then Cadrian wandered up screaming, after napping only an hour.

Snuggled him down again, but he would have none of it. We lay down together for 45 minutes before I gave up.

Fixed a snack. Made Brielle clean up the Hobbit Room and My Studio (that child is a whirlwind)

Sent the chickadees outside. Cleaned up the kitchen.

Went out to supervise the wagon riding/bike riding/rollerblading/trike pushing fiesta.

My cousin Amelila arrived and got scolded for parking on the cement.

She brought the next season of Gilmore Girls!

Played s’more.

That’s a curtsy.

Got everyone washed up.

Flipped on Curious George.

Made Cheesy Chicken Butterflies.

Ate it.

Cleaned up after it.

Sold some eggs.

Discussed the merits of Kevin going to Target for everything on the list by himself tonight, after band practice, or me doing it accompanied by three small children tomorrow. Sadly, I could not find the energy or wherewithall to make my case.

Jammafied everyone. Brushed teeth. Listened to Amelia read stories while I played on the ‘puter.

Popped them into bed.


and again.

And one more time.

Aviana went up to the guest room so Brielle would leave her alone.

Watched Lorelei agonize over accepting Max’s proposal.

Ate some cake. And for the record, when Five Year Old sasses me like she did, she will never again share my cake.

Checked some message boards.

Answered the door at 9:15. (WHO IS RINGING MY BELL AT 9:15?!? The soybean seed guy, who clearly, does not have small children)

Checked facebook, blogged and generally wasted time.

Hugged Handsome Husband

Went to bed.

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