Holy crap this is going to be OUR child!

Ok, maybe I'm a little late in this revelation. Maybe VERY late, considering she's coming in three days. But this entire pregnancy, even though I can feel Sophie moving around, have seen her ultrasound pictures, and have been preparing like crazy for this little person to come, it's felt almost like a visitor was coming, someone else's child. Especially since we know what day she's going to be born. (Which, by the way, I LOVE since we have Emma and the dogs to plan for.)

Then yesterday, I was thinking about the shelves in her room. When Emma was born, I had lots of pretties to put on the shelves. There was a music box doll I had as a small child, flowers I got as a gift in the hospital, a couple figurines, things like that. Nearly 12 years later, they are all still in Emma's room. I tried to think of something I could put up in Sophie's room, but found myself thinking "That's personal, though." Then it hit me - what is more personal than our baby??

Logically, I understand the whole concept. We are about to have two children. Emma is going to have a sister. She will genetically be just as much a part of us as Emma is. But I have such a hard time wrapping my head around it! I have never lived in a family with more than one child. I'm an only child, my mom is an only child. My dad has 9 siblings, but we live too far away from any of them for me to have seen any kind of day-to-day interaction. Besides, they were all adults. The whole idea of multiple kids, of siblings, of that whole relationship, is so foreign to me!

I am not worried about this - I know once she is born it will all "click" and I'll be just fine, but for right now, it still seems like a very strange idea.

The countdown

This is a mixed-up week. On one side, today was my 36 week baby checkup. She's still a she!! I am very relieved at that. Also, she is definitely a big baby like Emma was, so we scheduled my induction. She will be born on February 2, less than 3 weeks away. I am so relieved to have a set date for her arrival, since now I also have to worry about Emma - if she's in school, if she will need picking up, if I go into labor in the middle of the night... I need to have a set date. Also, I'm a planner. I like to know exactly when things will happen and be ready.

On the other side, we're having a crisis with my kitty. If you are on my Facebook or Twitter lists, then you're aware of what is going on. Sunday night we came home from a visit with my parents to find Ocoee, my nearly 13 year old cat, seriously ill. She couldn't sit up, she wouldn't eat, and she was having small seizures every few minutes. After a sleepless night I took her to the vet first thing Monday morning. She is still there. One problem was a massive UTI, but the neurological problems have had her vet stumped. Yesterday she combed through Ocoee's chart (we've taken our animals there for 10 years now) and realized she's lost 2 lbs in only a few months. That is 1/4 her total body weight! Cats just don't do that unless something is wrong. Right now we're waiting for some blood test results, checking for less common feline viruses. If it is not a virus, then we're likely facing a brain tumor. Unfortunately, chances are higher that she has a terminal issue than a curable one, and I'm having a very hard time with that. We've had her and her twin sister since they were six month old kittens. I was 3 months pregnant with Emma when we got them, so they've always been our "first babies."

So right now we have two countdowns going on - one we are super excited about and one that devastates me. I am trying to focus on the good, though: a strong healthy baby, and a well-loved companion who has had a long pampered life. This week has been such an emotional rollercoaster but I am finally at peace with it.

Techno-what?

I've always thought of myself not so much as a technophobe, but as someone who didn't really need or want a lot of technological things. I much prefer the TV off, phone off, cozied up with a good book kind of day than one spent with 200 channels, four cell phones, three laptops, and a video game system kind of day. Sure, these things come in handy, but I could take them or leave them.

Then yesterday, I realized what I was doing: Sitting on the couch, using my Blackberry to read an article listing the "best of" from the CES show in Las Vegas last week and telling my husband all about the cool things I wanted!

Wow. I was amazed at myself! Granted, I've been immersed in this world for 10 or 11 years now with my husband's job, but I even surprised him this time. Usually he is telling me all about the CES show (their company usually attends) and I'm trying to follow what he says with a glazed-over expression on my face.

I was thinking even more, though, about how our lives have been forever changed by technology in the past decade. In 2000, we were buying CDs in stores, sending some email but lots of letters still, using a land line with an answering machine (cell phones were a luxury and actually turned off at times!), and using paper maps to find our way when lost away from home.

Now, we are in the age of Facebook and Twitter, satellite radio, and GPS. More and more homes have no land line (remember when it was the "poor folks" who had no home phone?) but rely on cell phones. We have Blackberries, iPhones, and the new Droid things. And - music sales are no longer tracked with CD sales but iTunes downloads. Even my 93 year old grandmother has email access now!

So, is all this stuff good or bad? Eh, I am not getting into all that. I am just enjoying getting to know long distance family members on Facebook, new friends on Twitter, and playing with the cool toys =)

(Aroma)Therapy

In around one more month, Sophie will be here. I am uncomfortable much of the time, and run out of energy way too quickly for my to-do lists (I am NOT one who can sit back and let things be). But, I am calm. I am peaceful. I am ready.

A while back, I decided Sophie's room didn't smell "baby" enough yet. It smelled like paint and new flooring. So I picked up a scented oil plug-in at the store, and chose a lavender vanilla scent to go in it. I am not a fan of straight-up lavender (the artificial scent, anyway) but was pleasantly surprised with this one. It is peaceful. Calm. Relaxing.

Sometimes, in the evening when the house is still and quiet, the scent will drift down the hall. I smell it, and feel happy. Some mornings, when I am rushing around the house, getting ready for work, I will open the door, step inside the room, and smell. I relax. Sophie isn't even here, yet, and I can smell her. It is the scent of her bedding, her clothes, even the Boppy pillow. I smell her room, and I think "soon."

When I am tired, when I am frustrated at something else I can't do, when I just flat out need a hug and no one is home, I breathe in her scent. And all is well again.

A Christmas story

Normally, I don't read through this kind of email. This one, though, I did. It was a new story to me, but the message is an old one that we often forget. With the panic of Christmas being a week away, and the media frenzy of commercials and cooking and decorating shows, news broadcasts giving "Must-buy" lists, we all need this reminder. Enjoy.



Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities. But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors. It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881. I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn't been enough money to buy me the rifle that I'd wanted for Christmas. We did the chores early that night for some reason. I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.

After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible. I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn't in much of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn't get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn't figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn't worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity. Soon Pa came back in. It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. "Come on, Matt," he said. "Bundle up good, it's cold out tonight." I was really upset then. Not only wasn't I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see. We'd already done all the chores, and I couldn't think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this. But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one's feet when he'd told them to do something, so I got up and put my boots back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens. Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house. Something was up, but I didn't know what..

Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled. Whatever it was we were going to do wasn't going to be a short, quick, little job. I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load. Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand. I reluctantly climbed up beside him. The cold was already biting at me. I wasn't happy. When I was on, Pa pulled the sled around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed. He got off and I followed. "I think we'll put on the high sideboards," he said. "Here, help me." The high sideboards! It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.

After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood - the wood I'd spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks and splitting. What was he doing? Finally I said something. "Pa," I asked, "what are you doing?" You been by the Widow Jensen's lately?" he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road. Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight. Sure, I'd been by, but so what?

Yeah," I said, "Why?"

"I rode by just today," Pa said. "Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They're out of wood, Matt." That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him. We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it. Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait. When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. "What's in the little sack?" I asked. Shoes, they're out of shoes. Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning. I got the children a little candy too. It just wouldn't be Christmas without a little candy."

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen's pretty much in silence. I tried to think through what Pa was doing. We didn't have much by worldly standards. Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it. We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn't have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy? Really, why was he doing any of this? Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn't have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door. We knocked. The door opened a crack and a timid voice said, "Who is it?" "Lucas Miles, Ma'am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?"

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly gave off any heat at all. Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

"We brought you a few things, Ma'am," Pa said and set down the sack of flour. I put the meat on the table. Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it. She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time. There was a pair for her and one for each of the children - sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last. I watched her carefully. She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks. She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say
something, but it wouldn't come out.

"We brought a load of wood too, Ma'am," Pa said. He turned to me and said, "Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile. Let's get that fire up to size and heat this place up." I wasn't the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as mu ch as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too. In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn't speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy that I'd never known before, filled my soul. I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference. I could see we were literally saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone's spirits soared. The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn't crossed her face for a long time. She finally turned to us. "God bless you," she said. "I know the Lord has sent you. The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us."

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again. I'd never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true. I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth. I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others. The list seemed endless as I thought on it.

Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left. I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get. Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen's face again when we stood up to leave. Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug. They clung to him and didn't want us to go. I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.

At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, "The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow. The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals. We'll be by to get you about eleven. It'll be nice to have some little ones around again. Matt, here, hasn't been little for quite a spell." I was the youngest. My two brothers and two sisters had all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, "Thank you, Brother Miles. I don't have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will."
Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn't even notice the cold. When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, "Matt, I want you to know something. Your ma and me have been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn't have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square. Your ma and me were real excited, thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that,but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do. Son, I spent the money for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand."

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again. I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it. Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities. Pa had given me a lot more. He had given me the look on Widow Jensen's face and the radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

Ain't misbehaving

(I think that's the first time that word - the a-word - has ever come from me!)

It's not a good sign when your doctor walks into the room and the first thing out of her mouth is "Have you been misbehaving again?" Although this time, I promise I was not doing anything I shouldn't be doing. Honestly!

I called the office this morning because all this week I'd been having pains where I shouldn't be having pain. In short, my girlie parts were hurting like crazy! It felt like this baby was about to fall out. Last night was the worst. I had no energy whatsoever, and every part of me from my belly to my feet hurt like crazy. My back and hips were killing me, and the pressure "down there" was horrendous! I tried making dinner, and had to bring a dining chair to the stove to sit in to form the meatballs. I did ask Chris to come in and put a pot of water on the stove to boil for noodles, and later got out the carrots and another pot for me to cook them in. I rested while the meat and noodles cooked, then made the gravy. I can't make real gravy to save my life; thank goodness for mixes that are quick and easy. Just that simple thing hurt so much, though, that I camped out on the couch again and asked him to bring me some dinner and something to drink. I just couldn't do anymore. I was hurting so badly I couldn't walk. So, I didn't. I ended up falling asleep on the couch,and woke up just before midnight to go to bed. I could walk then, but my belly was SO sore. Once I was in bed, I couldn't move.

This morning, I was feeling much better. Thankfully. The more I thought about it, though, the more I thought I should call the nurse line just to make sure it was normal late-pregnancy pains. At this stage with Emma, I was at home all the time and not active at all, so I really couldn't compare. Also, that was twelve years ago! I can't remember what I felt like then. The nurse called me back, wrote down my symptoms, and checked with the doctor. Sure enough, I had to go in for a check. That is when I got the misbehaving line. Really, though, I have been VERY good lately and not doing anything I'm not supposed to do.

She did an internal exam, listened to Sophie's heartbeat, and measured whatever it is she measures. She asked me lots of questions about what I was feeling last night and what I had been doing leading up to that. It turns out I was having contractions! The real ones, too, not the fake Braxton Hicks whatevers that I don't think I've ever felt.

I was not expecting that at all.

Really, I was expecting a "You're fine, this is normal, go back to work and quit worrying" answer. Instead, I got detailed instructions on what to do if it happens again, when to call immediately, and what will be done to prevent early labour if it DOES happen again. The good news is everything inside is as it should be - closed up tight.
That was a big relief, since Sophie isn't done cooking yet! She still has quite a few more weeks to go!

I now also have doctor's orders to take it easier.... I thought I had been doing so well, but I have to do more. Or less, rather.... if I'm tired or achy at the end of the day, I'm to have Chris and Emma do the cooking and cleaning up. I have to cut back on other things, too. This is going to be a real challenge for me, I know.

But, I'll do it! I'll have to, to keep her in there as long as possible.

To tell the truth (a Santa story)

So it's that time of year again. The time when parents hide stashes of "stuff" and secret wrapping paper, fake handwriting on tags, eat cookies and drink milk in the middle of the night, after deciphering budding penmanship on sweet, "I've-been-so-good-angels-look-bad" letters.

Except I thought that part would be over by now.

Emma is 11, will turn 12 in just a few too-short months. A few years ago, she found where the Santa paper was hidden. (What she was doing wayyyyyyyyyy under the couch along the wall, I have no idea.) I was on the phone when she found it, and she was VERY upset. Luckily my call gave me a few extra minutes to think, and the best I came up with was "Santa must shop at Target also! And I bought that paper for Christmas and lost it!" I didn't think she bought it, but like the tooth fairy, she seemed to realize that if she admitted she knew the truth the extra gifts would stop.

Last year, many months after Christmas she and I were talking about her Nintendo DS. Does anyone else have trouble keeping up with which gifts were from you and which were from Santa?? I said something about finding it, or something along those lines that made it obvious we bought it, and she said "That one was from Santa, Mom." But again, she was fine; she seemed to understand the arrangement perfectly.

Then this year. Oh boy, this year...

It started at Thanksgiving dinner. We were with my parents, and they had invited a friend over. The conversation turned to my dad's siblings (ten in all) and I asked how many were born in September (four of them). The men joked about what Santa got for Christmas that year... my mom pointed out that I was a Christmas "present" also... and the Santa getting lucky jokes continued. I looked at Emma, who doesn't miss anything (unfortunately) and she wasn't phased a bit. I quickly changed the subject (this was my GRANDMA, people!) and everything was fine. She never brought it up.

Then on Sunday, we were getting our Christmas tree and decorations out of our storage building. Way back when Emma was four, Santa brought her the giant wooden Barbie house from the JC Penney catalog. It's 5 feet high, 4 feet wide, and three stories. Now that she is 11, it's been moved to storage also. I had to slide it out of the way to get to the Christmas decorations, and made the comment that it wasn't as sturdy as it was when we bought it. (Yeah, I know, bad mom...but it just slipped!) She called me out on it, and I told her that I actually said "when Santa brought it" not "when we bought it" although she wasn't convinced. But even as she was pouting, she was hiding laughter. Seemed like she was faking her upset, right?

That's what I thought. Last night my mom came to visit, and as she and Emma were at the dinner table working on homework I was cooking dinner. Emma was telling Mom about the dollhouse incident, and she was VERY upset still! I chalked it up to extra drama; she was tired and it was way past dinner time and she was starving. That combination just breeds crankiness and drama. The pouting continued all night, though, and when she went to bed she told Chris she said she didn't like being lied to.

Wow. I had assumed for the past couple years that she had figured out the whole Santa thing. She no longer corrected when people on TV talked about "the truth" and didn't react to adult conversations she overheard about Santa. I really thought she knew but was just keeping up appearances! I don't even remember how old I was when I figured it all out, but there was no issue or drama with it; it was just part of growing up. It never occurred to me she might feel betrayed or be upset by the whole thing!

So now what?

Learning lessons the hard way

I have a bit of a stubborn side. If you know me at all, this is not a surprise. So when I am told I can't do something, my first response is usually "Yes I can!"

Sometimes, though, like this weekend, it doesn't even occur to me that I shouldn't do something until long after it's already done. Something like.... oh let's just use moving furniture. Alone. Because I'd never move furniture by myself when I'm 24 weeks pregnant, right?

Yeah, we'll go with that.

I did have a nice day Saturday with Emma. My husband was out of town for the day, and early-ish that morning she came and crawled into bed with me and we had some nice cuddle and chat time. Then she informed me my baby was hungry (and was thrilled when I knew she was talking about herself and not her growing baby sister). We had breakfast, dressed, and went into town. The church sale we were going to help with was canceled, so we spent the next four hours going around town visiting all the stores we never have time to normally. We had lunch out (her restaurant choice) and eventually went home. We had ice cream and watched a movie. Then something so rare happened I wish I had a recorder then:

"Mom, I am tired of my room being messy. I'm going to clean it. Will you help me?"

Heck yes I'll help you! The previous weekend she got a new desk and bookcase, but there was still lots of work to be done. And we did it. We started around 7 pm and didn't stop until 11. We cleaned it all, even under her bed. During this time, we were trying to find a place to put her fold-up chair when she wasn't using it. Its former home now occupied her guitar, so we thought it would go nicely between the bookcase and dresser. Except it wouldn't quite fit. So I moved the dresser.

And her nightstand - twice. I had to move it to vacuum underneath it!

We finally wore ourselves out, and knew we had to stop or we'd never make it to church in the morning. She went to bed, and I went to fold and put away all the laundry I'd washed during the day.

A little after midnight my husband came home from his trip. Shortly after that, I had some bleeding. Not enough to be alarmed necessarily, but enough to concern me since it hasn't happened once with this pregnancy. My back and belly hurt, too. I figured I just overdid it a bit and decided to put myself on bed/couch rest for all of the next day.

No more bleeding, but I still was sore all day Sunday. And Monday, and Tuesday. At work, one of the case managers was concerned enough to convince me to call the doctor. I had decided not to call, since I already had an appointment for later this week. She was pretty worried, though, so I called the nurse line. The doctor wanted to see me right away.

Ok - now a little more concerned. He examined me, and luckily everything is fine with the baby. Heartbeat very strong, kicking like crazy (especially when she hears her big sister talking), and growing steadily. I, however, apparently pulled the muscles in my abdomen and ruptured a blood vessel where I didn't even know was possible. I am cleared for the Race for the Cure this weekend, but strictly no more heavy lifting!

Or moving furniture....

The big reveal

Last Thursday we had the 20 week ultrasound to see how the baby is doing... and find out what was cooking in there. My husband and I both had the day off from work (which also happened to be his birthday - what a gift, right?) and we picked Emma up from school early.

We headed to the doctor's office and luckily for them the ultrasound was done first thing. Technology sure has improved in the past eleven years! We could even make out the little face and fingers. We got some great pictures to bring home with us, too.

Then was the checkup. Emma informed me that she WAS going to that part, also, so I told her to bring Daddy back since he hasn't gotten to be at any previous checkup. The doctor did ask me if I was eating (again!) since I've lost five more pounds since my previous visit, bringing my total to a 15 lb loss since the first prenatal visit. I am eating, by the way, I just don't have much appetite.

If I had known this baby thing was such a good diet I might have tried it earlier...

We decided not to tell anyone the gender right away, and have a reveal party on the weekend for friends and family instead. My parents came, and my best friend and her adorable little boy came, and we had my mother-in-law on the phone for the cake-cutting. I had colored a white cake the proper color and frosted the whole thing white. I found pink and blue decorator gels at the store and covered the top in question marks.

Everyone was surprised when the inside of the cake was pink!

So, in four short months we will have two daughters. Emma is thrilled to be getting a little sister, and is already embroidering a bib for her that says "I love my big sis."

Now the quest for a name begins....

Something you should never say to a pregnant woman

For some reason, as soon as the rest of the world finds out a woman has conceived a child, the floodgates open wide for opinions, comments, and observations that would NEVER be said to a non-pregnant woman. All of a sudden, everyone wants to know about your sex life, your digestion, your bathroom habits, your plans for your breasts - why are those things suddenly ok to ask about? Especially strangers?

But what really gets me is this comment: "Wow you are huge! Are you sure you're not having twins??"

Luckily this hasn't yet happened to me with this baby, but I got it ALL THE TIME when I was pregnant with Emma. Almost daily, whenever I left my home I'd hear some variation on that exclamation many times. Even from my own family! Granted, I was too-thin before I was pregnant. But you know what? She was a big baby - one ounce less than ten pounds. And I gained 40 pounds during the entire pregnancy. So do you know what those statements accomplished?

They ruined my self-image. I immediately went from being happy with my looks (I actually modeled for years before I got pregnant) to crying whenever I looked in the mirror. I couldn't stand to see myself naked, and of course our apartment at the time had a HUGE mirror in the bathroom, so I was faced with my huge belly every time I bathed. I didn't see myself as a beautiful pregnant woman, giving life to my child. I saw an ogre, a fat cow. Gone forever was the confidence and satisfaction with how I looked to myself.

And even though this time around I am still barely showing, I continuously catch myself holding in my stomach to look thinner, worrying about my clothes making me look fat, wondering what other people think about how I look. I can't even appreciate the growing bulge in my abdomen. And I hate that.

So please, never ever tell a pregnant woman about how huge she is. I guarantee she already knows for herself, and being reminded of that does not help matters. It just might be the final straw to destroy her confidence.

At the very least, it just might get you a black eye.

To tell the truth?

On my way to work this morning, the morning show I listen to was discussing telling the truth. Should we filter what we say or be completely honest, no matter what? Their examples were telling a friend you love her designer purse she spent her entire savings on then calling other friends to discuss its ugliness, or a friend who was visiting and said "I hate your wallpaper in the bathroom."

Why would civilized people do either? Maybe I'm getting too old for this station (Cosmo radio if you must know) but I don't get it. I can't see doing either thing. Instead of being on the extreme side of the parameters, I'm more of the "if it is important, then speak up" line of thinking.

So what if we don't like our friend's new clothes/purse/flooring/car colour? What does it really matter in the long run? If our friend is happy, why ruin their day (and chip away at their confidence) by saying how ugly we might think it to be? I'd rather save my complete honesty for when it is really important, like if she was considering passing up her dream job, selling her house to live in a commune, marry someone abusive... something major. Something life-altering, something important.

Who cares if her wallpaper or purse are ugly?

Why are we unhappy?

I heard something very interesting on the radio this morning as I was driving to work. The morning show host had read a study recently that found women today are overall more unhappy than women of past generations. The host was surprised, because (more or less) "with the whole feminist movement and more options we have, how can we be unhappier? It must be divorce."

I am not surprised at the study, actually. And no, I don't agree with divorce being the cause. True, the divorce rate is higher now than in past generations, but how many women then were hopelessly stuck in unhappy marriages? There isn't a stigma attached to being a divorced woman any more. So no, I don't think that is the reason.

I love that the feminist movement has given women so many options for what to do with our lives! We can have successful careers, go to any college we want, raise a family (or not, it's our choice), and do basically whatever we choose! Heck, a woman could even be president and a few generations ago we weren't even allowed to vote.

But - I think this is the root of our unhappiness. Instead of feeling like we have a choice, too many women feel pressured to "do it all" and do it all perfectly. We must go to college, get regular promotions at work, marry, have children, raise those children to be perfect, maintain a spotless home, cook nutritious, organic meals, and look good doing it. We feel this pressure from television, magazines, our families, and ourselves. Out of these, I don't think our families are malicious with the pressure, but want "what is best" for us. But who knows what is best for us more than ourselves? Unfortunately, if other women are like me, we are our biggest critics. The outside influences, on the other hand, don't care about us as individuals and press their own agenda: Buy our product! You MUST breastfeed or you are a bad mother! You MUST NEVER make mistakes in raising your children or you are a bad mother! You MUST be skinny and have your hair done in salons! Do it OUR way! Your way isn't good enough!

We need to stop listening to all the critics! Including our own inner critics. We are human, not superhuman. One woman cannot possibly do it all and do it all perfectly. Something has to give! If we keep trying, it is our health and our own happiness that gets lost in the shuffle. So stop, take a step back, and relax. And breathe.

My new mantra? I am good enough, just the way I am.

Breaking news!

I have breaking news. I'm just going to come right out and say it.

I'm.......

I'm....

Ok so I still can't type the word.

Let me try this way - Emma is going to no longer be an only child.



Seriously.



Just went to the doctor today, and she confirmed. Next February sometime we will have another child.



Things will be so much different this time around, too. For starters, it's on purpose (although I still can't quite believe it!). We are both 11 years older and wiser. I know a bit more about babies now (although when you start with zero knowledge, there is no where else to go but up, right?). Some things I know to pay attention to now, some things I know to ignore now as misinformation. I want to find out gender this time. I already have things picked out for the room; thank goodness we kept Emma's baby furniture.

Holy crap I'm going to have a teenager and a toddler at the same time.

Who is to blame?

There has been a story in the news here for several months, progressively developing.  To catch you up, several completely healthy dogs had died suddenly after visiting a dog grooming facility in town.  First it was one, then another one, then a third.  All dogs were in excellent health before their visit.  The owner of the business was finally charged with animal cruelty.  Then yesterday, this happened:  http://www.knoxnews.com/news/2009/jun/03/pet-spa-owner-kills-wife-self-in-w-knox/

I'll give you a few minutes to read the story.

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A tragedy, right?  Those poor children!  I can't see how they could ever recover from such a horror.  But what really gets me is the father of the indictee.  Did you catch this?  "Webb's father, veterinarian Carlos Webb, said Tuesday that he blamed the News Sentinel and a $750,000 lawsuit filed against Happy Tails by the owners of Moxie, the deceased beagle, for the tragedy."

Your son treats dogs so badly they die after a visit to his facility.  He then decides to murder his wife in front of their young children.  Then he has the presence of mind to call a taxi to take him to the "pet spa" where he takes the time to write a suicide note and then shoots himself in the head. And you blame the newspaper for reporting the charges??  And the owners of the third dog that died for suing your son for killing thier family pet?  What kind of human are you?

It seems the son was taught by example to have no personal responsiblity.  If you get caught in a crime, it is the fault of who found out, not your own.  It is the victim's fault they are your victim.  Are you freaking kidding me, sir??  The father was upset because the family's lawyer said he was going to put the pet spa out of business.  As well it should be!  This man caused the death of four family pets by horrendous, cruel, inhumane treatment that caused them to suffer and die.  He should not have been allowed to remain in business!
I am sorry he has to suffer through the death of his son and daughter-in-law, really, and the fact that his son is a monster.  But I have to wonder how the son got that way...

Who is to blame?

There has been a story in the news here for several months, progressively developing. To catch you up, several completely healthy dogs had died suddenly after visiting a dog grooming facility in town. First it was one, then another one, then a third. All dogs were in excellent health before their visit. The owner of the business was finally charged with animal cruelty. Then yesterday, this happened: http://www.knoxnews.com/news/2009/jun/03/pet-spa-owner-kills-wife-self-in-w-knox/

I'll give you a few minutes to read the story.

*

*

*

A tragedy, right? Those poor children! I can't see how they could ever recover from such a horror. But what really gets me is the father of the indictee. Did you catch this? "Webb's father, veterinarian Carlos Webb, said Tuesday that he blamed the News Sentinel and a $750,000 lawsuit filed against Happy Tails by the owners of Moxie, the deceased beagle, for the tragedy."

Your son treats dogs so badly they die after a visit to his facility. He then decides to murder his wife in front of their young children. Then he has the presence of mind to call a taxi to take him to the "pet spa" where he takes the time to write a suicide note and then shoots himself in the head. And you blame the newspaper for reporting the charges?? And the owners of the third dog that died for suing your son for killing their family pet? What kind of human are you?

It seems the son was taught by example to have no personal responsibility. If you get caught in a crime, it is the fault of who found out, not your own. It is the victim's fault they are your victim. Are you freaking kidding me, sir?? The father was upset because the family's lawyer said he was going to put the pet spa out of business. As well it should be! This man caused the death of four family pets by horrendous, cruel, inhumane treatment that caused them to suffer and die. He should not have been allowed to remain in business!

I am sorry he has to suffer through the death of his son and daughter-in-law, really, and the fact that his son is a monster. But I have to wonder how the son got that way...