Boy Crazy

A while back, I was chatting with a mom who was visiting our preschool class to see if our program would be a good fit for her family.  I told her I have really enjoyed attending with my three boys.

"Do you know what you are having next?" she asked, nodding at my obvious baby belly.

"Another boy," I responded with a smile.

A deep, genuine look of pity immediately crossed her face, and she put a hand gently on my arm in comfort.  "Aww. Did you think it was going to be a girl?"

A couple of weeks later, I took Bean to our beloved pediatrician for his 4-year well-child check-up.  The doctor had three girls and then a boy, and actually promised me early in the pregnancy I would be having a girl.

When I told her that we were team blue once again, she exclaimed, "OH NO!  That's the worst news I've heard all day!"

Sure, it was only 10:30 in the morning.  But still.

As a parent, you have to develop a thick skin because everyone and their dog groomer has an opinion about the decisions you make.  And usually?  You are doing it wrong.  But I must admit these kind of comments about the sex of my children (which I get fairly often) do sting.

Am I being oversensitive?  Definitely.  First, let's not forget that I have pregnancy hormones coursing through my body every minute, so I'm "oversensitive" like Mount Everest is "tall-ish."  But it hits a cord deep in me. I spent painful years and months fighting to create this family.  I did things I never dreamed I'd have to do, like give myself shots and remain on complete bedrest for nearly three months.  The implication that I would be anything other than 100% satisfied with these children, being oversensitive or not, quite frankly makes me want to cry.

I know it's not intended like that, I really do.  And I understand how pregnant women (fertile or otherwise) have hopes that they will have a child of a certain sex, at the same time as they are grateful for the baby and more concerned about his or her health.  I own that this reaction is mine.

But is it that hard to believe that I am actually completely content to be the only uterus in my household?  (Evey the dog has been... ummm... fixed.)

Even before infertility reared its ugly head, I knew from the moment I said "I Do" that I would only be producing male children.  My father-in-law is one of five boys.  My husband has two brothers and one sister -- a sister who currently plays ice hockey at her college and who only reached for dolls as a child when she needed to fill the stands for an imagined sporting event.  But gender stereotypes aside, I remarked years ago to a friend who has two boys that I would surely be joining her in that club.  I never had visions of tutus and glitter for my future, and I can't say that it really bothered me.

And enter infertility.  I'm not saying that every woman who has struggled to conceive automatically lets go of any dreams she had of specifically raising a girl or a boy, nor that she should let them go.  But I will say for me personally, staring down the reality that I would quite possibly never get and stay pregnant did make me more appreciative of the miracle when it happened than I would have been otherwise, and even less concerned with the sex of the baby.

Am I missing out on certain experiences because I will never have a daughter?  Certainly.  I will never take her shopping for a prom dress, and I won't well-up with proud tears when DH walks her down the aisle at her wedding.  But there are plenty of other experiences that I will miss out on in life for many reasons -- like visiting the Moai head statues on Easter Island or performing stand-up comedy to a packed audience at the Apollo -- and I try not to dwell on those.  Instead, I am excited about the four little men that I get to raise.  I will never have to mow the lawn. I will never have to lift a heavy box or struggle to open the pickle jar.  And can I get a giant "woo hoo!" for hand-me-down toys and clothing?  Six people on one income is scary enough without needing an entirely new wardrobe for one of them.  For another 10 years or so, I will be the main woman in their lives, and maybe it's selfish, but I think that's kinda cool.  As DH said when we found out it was all blue for us, "These boys come from a long line of sons adoring their mothers."  And the feeling is absolutely mutual.

So just to settle any question in your mind: I am not crying in the corner because I will (God willing!) have four sons.  I accept that I will not own nice things and the things I do own will be broken, scratched, and chipped.  When I feel the urge, I will buy adorable fluffy pink headbands for my friends' daughters.  And no, we will not continue trying to have children until we get a girl.  Ha!  That question actually just makes me laugh -- I take it as a compliment that I look like I have any amount of sanity and money left for another baby.

Whew!  Thanks for letting me get that off my chest.  Now on to bigger things, like my belly.  On Friday I will be 34 weeks, the point at which my doctor would not try to stop labor should it begin.  And according to the mass opinion of strangers, it could begin at any moment.  It's not an exaggeration to say that almost every time I leave my house, at least one person looks me over and says something like, "Wow! That baby will be coming any day, huh?"  No, my offspring are just abnormally huge, thank you though.  If I wasn't wearing DH's sweats, I would take a belly shot for you right now.  I'll try to get one soon, on the rare occasion that I am actually wearing presentable clothes.  According to my doctor, I have gained 32 pounds so far.  She said she's not overly concerned about it at this point, as my starting weight was healthy (remember I had just finished that diet), but she did warn me to keep an eye on the gain.  Yep, I'm definitely keeping an eye on it, thanks!

And finally, a few pictures...

Linda, a long-time close family friend, came to visit from Michigan --
she's about to be a Grandma of twins herself!  We tried not to scare her...
...too much.  Muahahaha.

"You distract her while I go through her purse!"

Gax shows off his new "Smile!" face.

Yes, he really does consider that a smile. And apparently so does Bean.

Wordless Wednesday: School Pictures

Awesome Parenting Moment #826

Today was "green day" in Bean's preschool class.  The students are supposed to bring in green things they have cut out of magazines.  There is a sticky green poster board in class, and each child goes up to the board and puts up their cut-outs.

I handed Bean a couple of People magazines and a Cooking Light this morning, and he busily went to work with his toddler scissors while I wrangled the twins.  I later handed him a Ziplock bag to put his cut-outs into, and then into his backpack they went.

Imagine my delight when this came out:

Parenting at its finest.

Four

A few little updates first!  Life continues as usual around here, with me feeling like a gigantic, clumsy, petulant ocean liner and the kiddos running circles around me on a daily basis.  We are now officially scheduled to have the C-section on May 11th.  Seems like a good enough day to be born if you ask me, which they did.  I am very worried we won't make it to that date, though, because I may have used up all my luck making it to the C-section with the twins, plus I rarely get to sit and rest, and I'm frequently carrying at least one child weighing somewhere between 27 and 38 pounds.  Two months and counting!  I also got good news from the OB yesterday... I passed my 1-hour glucose test!  I was absolutely shocked because I eat my weight in refined sugar every day because I failed the 1-hour glucose test with Bean, although I did fortunately go on to pass the 3-hour test.  She also approved my request to go see The Lumineers concert at the end of March.  Actually, it was DH's request, he wanted her to sign off on the outing before I bought tickets.  She said the loud music won't harm the baby, although she didn't comment on the overall detriment of forcing our baby to listen to angsty ballads played by a group named after a cosmetic dental product.  Seriously, guys, did you not think of how irritating that would be for those of us who try to Google your band?

Now what really deserves it's own post, but since I am a sucky blogger these days, this will have to suffice: my sweet boy Bean turned FOUR on Monday.  It seems like a million years ago that DH and I were awaiting his arrival... so much has changed.  Almost everything has changed, really.  Other than my graying hair and flab-tastic stomach, all for the better.  I am grateful every day for my special little man and all the time I get to spend with him, watching him grow and explore and process the huge world around him.  He is still a card-carrying mama's boy, but I see him inching toward independence in a way that is both satisfying and terrifying to me.  I wish I could protect him forever, keep him snuggled next to me on the couch watching the latest episode of Ninjago.  I have always talked the talk about wanting to launch him successfully into the world... but I think I may be changing my mind on that one.  There's no real harm in starting kindergarten at age 10, is there?

March 5th, 2008: A day I used to refer to as "The End of Life as We Know It" -- which more aptly should be called "The Beginning of Life as We Know It."

Home at last...

"These clowns are my parents?  You're kidding me, right?"

And now to catch up on more pictures of all three boys, at home, at the Children's Museum of Seattle, at Sandbox Sports, at the PJ ice cream social for preschool family night, and finally, Bean's birthday party at the Children's Museum of Tacoma.

"You always pick the best activities for us, Mom."

Sometimes, you just know it's going to be a good day

Like when you find ALL the heads AND butts to the animals for your magnetic fridge farm.

Thank you God, and the Farmer in the Dell, for this small victory.  Oink oink.

Survival

That's been the theme of 2012 so far: Survival.  I wish I could say it was something more fun, like Disco Classics or Colin Firth Movies or Winning Lottery Tickets.  But I suppose I'm grateful it wasn't something like Volcano Eruption or Bad Hair Days.  Gotta look on the positive side, right?

So it started a few days after New Year's, when my parents left for a nearly 3-week vacation to Michigan and Grand Cayman.  I can't imagine why they would want to leave the gray, damp Seattle winter and four whiny people of various sizes who constantly need their help with e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g., but we all have our preferences, I guess.  Fortunately DH was able to cut down on some of his work hours and help me with dinners, bedtime, and even preschool during the week.  Is there anything cuter than a dad taking his 1-year-old twins to a mommy- parent-and-me class?  I'm not even sure if this little guy stands a chance in that competition, honestly.

Nice try, baby harp seal.  But no.

Then, my mother-in-law arrived to spend time with the munchkins and help out with the last week-and-a-half of my parents' absence.  Little did she know what she was walking into: Snowmagedden 2012.  The forecasters were warning we could get UP! TO! 16! INCHES! OF! SNOW!  I don't care where you live, that's nothing to shake a stick at.

But it didn't happen that way.  Not even close.

At our house, I would guess we got around 4 inches.  It was cute at first, it was fun.  We rarely see snow around here, because really, the Seattle area isn't very cold.  Our lowest average daytime winter temp is 45 degrees.  So even the 4 inches was a lot for us to handle, between how hilly our terrain is and how completely unequipped we are to plow and sand the roads.  All schools and some businesses were closed, but overall, not too devastating for a winter storm.

Until Snowmaggeden decided to have the last laugh.  It probably saw this cartoon (sent to me by my brother's girlfriend) and narrowed its frosty brow and growled, "I will show you who's boss, you arrogant humans!  Make a mockery of me, will you?  NOBODY MOCKS THE SNOWMAGGEDEN!"

So he rained on the giant trees in our gorgeous Evergreen State, and then made the rain freeze.  Or maybe it was freezing rain when it fell, I wasn't really paying that much attention.  But either way: snap, crackle, and pop... down went the trees, down went the power lines, down went the cable lines, down went any shred of sanity holding my life together.

Being without power for three days with three small children was not a shining time period in my life.  We had our two gas fireplaces cranked on around-the-clock (and we have the gas bill to prove it), so we were able to maintain around 58-60 degrees in the house.  The twins slept well, with double jammies and a sleep sack and blankets, but unfortunately Bean did not.  He could fall asleep with a candle on, but then we had to blow it out overnight, and he was constantly waking up and running into our bed, afraid of the darkness.  But he doesn't sleep well in our bed for some reason, thus none of us slept well, which doesn't leave much energy for a pregnant woman to handle the daily challenge of keeping the kids warm, fed, and entertained during the day without power.  We lost all the food in both fridges and freezers, and after our power finally came back on, our cable/Internet/phone bundle was out for another four days beyond that.  And let's not even talk about the HOURS we spent trapped in our mini-van, trying to get food and/or get to my parent's house (which had power), helpless because of the slippery roads.  Meanwhile, because holding my poor mother-in-law hostage in our dark, freezing house wasn't bad enough, she managed to catch a cold from the boys, and it hit her severely.  She felt absolutely miserable, and I felt like a chump, even though none of it was my fault (except for the hubris leading to Snowmaggeden's revenge, of course).  We have since moved on from the whole Snowmaggeden ordeal, but post-traumatic stress disorder remains firmly in place.  Everyone in Seattle (myself included) still squawks about how we are going to buy generators in anticipation of the next storm, even though 99% of us (myself included) never will.  Oh well, it will give us something to complain about next January.

Even though our house is once again humming with the glorious sounds of electricity (is that you, washing machine, my love?), I still feel like I am in survival mode.  We are ringing in the third trimester of pregnancy, and I look like this...

Huge.

... and my house looks like this...

Messy.

...and my kids look like this...

I don't even know what's going on in this picture.

Basically it's barely controlled chaos.  Having 1.5 year old twins is seriously kicking my butt right now.  The pregnancy makes it more difficult, for sure.  But even that aside, OH MY GOD HAVING 1.5 YEAR OLD TWINS IS SERIOUSLY KICKING MY BUTT.  I am waiting for that magical time that other twin mamas have described to me, when having twins is often easier than a singleton because they entertain each other.  Please lord let me live to see that happen.  In the meantime, having two of them means twice the mess, twice the work, twice the meals (because they can't possibly like the same food! ever!), twice the diapers, twice the laundry, and four times the whining and crying (because they antagonize each other in addition to the normal "alone" whining and crying).  Luckily it's balanced out by all the extra cuteness when they do actually play well together, dance to the Wiggles together, "talk" together, giggle together (usually while doing something naughty), or hug each other.  I hate to sound negative here, because they really are a special pair, and I feel blessed to have them grow up together.  I adore all three of my boys and appreciate every day that I get to love them and snuggle them and irritate them with lots of hugs and kisses.  But it's a crap-ton of work, every day, all day, and my pleas for just an hour of peace go completely ignored.  This is one exhausted mama, yo.

A happier note on the survival theme, our little bun in the oven has officially passed the point of "viability," the 24-week mark that means the baby has a decent shot at survival outside the womb (50%).  I still don't like those odds, and I don't want to test them!  But it's a relief to pass that milestone nevertheless.  For those of you keeping track at home, I am officially at 26 weeks and 5 days, or almost exactly 6 months.  I am as big as a house and doing my best to fight off the pregnancy waddle.  I've found the best way to do that is to avoid movement of any kind.  I have a few minor aches and pains, but I won't detail them, since I'm not one to complain (*ahem*).  Overall the baby and I are doing well.  The next gestational diabetes test is in about two weeks, so I'll waddle along happily until they tell me I can't eat donuts for dinner anymore.

And now to end this gem of a post, I will share with you some Beanisms.  (The twins say amusing things too, but mainly it's things like pointing to the clock and saying a word that... well... isn't exactly CLOCK.)  Enjoy!

**

Me: Hey Bean, see that brown building over there?  That's where your dentist is.  We'll be seeing him again in a couple of days.

Bean (peering out the car window): Is that the dentist where I was born?

**

Bean (concerned): Mommy?  Is there anyone in your tummy with the baby?  Who is helping him get dressed in the morning?

**

Me: Bean, I'll be going downstairs in a minute, honey.  I need to change the sheets on mommy and daddy's bed first.

Bean: Why, did you guys pee in it or something?

**

Bean (shivering): I am freezing like a muffin!

Me: .... A muffin?

Bean: Well, yeah, if you put it in the freezer.

**

Bean (patting my belly thoughtfully): Mommy, are there toys in your tummy for the baby to play with?

**

Bean (examining a new toy):  This dinosaur has a mean face.  It must be a mommy.

Me: Oh?  Do mommies have mean faces?

Bean: Yeah.

(pause)

Bean: But only to kids.

(pause)

Bean:  Only when they are being bad.