Ohhhh Sundays.  We have 11:00 church and I still have yet to be there on time.  Erik has meetings Sunday mornings starting at 8.  So I have to get myself ready, and the 3 little kiddos.  That includes breakfast for all 3, a snack for 2, and a bottle and nap for one, all before leaving.  Erik comes home after meetings then usually goes ahead with the two older boys, and Em and I have to catch up.  Maybe one day I'll figure out how to make it work (I hear other people do…like LOTS of other people…) but for right now I am still struggling with being nice and happy or at the very least, tolerable, and making it to church only "fashionably" late, without an anxiety attack or biting anyones head off.

Anyway, one morning Erik must have thought our boys particularly handsome while I was upstairs putting the finishing touches on myself.  I found he had taken these pictures only when I uploaded the camera to my computer.  I always like finding little surprises like that.  I sure do love these goobers.

Oh this 3 year old of mine!  Boy, how he and I butt heads.  He is probably my biggest trial right now.  Besides telling me “NO!” 672 times a day (most often while stomping his foot and shaking his fist at me) he tells me to “Move it” “Get out of my way” “Stop that” “I can’t” “Freakin’” and my favorite, “No, YOU [insert whatever I just told him to do].”  I am still trying to figure out the most (or even AN) effective way to deal with all of Samuel’s SASS!!!   

A few cases in point.

The other morning we were heading outside for a bike ride and walk.  I remembered I needed to grab something from upstairs, so I told Sam to hang on for just a sec.  He stood by the door and shouted, “No!  We are going outside right now!  Five . . . four, three, two, one.  That’s it, you’re on time out.”

Driving home from a doctor’s appointment in Provo, Samuel was looking out the window.  We had the following coversation.  “Mom, I see a big X on the mountain.”  “You know, that’s actually the letter Y, but I see it, too, and that was smart to notice it’s a letter.”  “That’s very naughty, Mom, you have to go on a time out.”  “What?  What’s naughty?”  “That’s very naughty you put that big Y up there, you should not do that.  Now you have to go on time out and sit on the naughty stool and I turn on the timer until you’re really really finished.”  “Samuel, it’s not naughty that the Y is there, and besides, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”  “Well you tell Daddy not to color with his crayons on the mountain.  It’s very naughty.”

And today, after 5 hours of being away from home playing and shopping and eating, we pulled into the garage.  Samuel was begging to go play in the backyard.  I explained that we needed to go inside and feed Owen, and go to the bathroom, and rest.  Sam got more and more worked up because he wanted to play outside, and I wouldn’t give in.  Clearly he’d had enough of the argument, and knew exactly how to end it in his favor as he shouted at me, ”You don’t get to tell me NO!” 

Oh boy oh boy oh boy.  Yes, the sass is bad, but even worse is the fact that every sassy thing he says, he heard it from me first.  Lesson learned . . . or at least, learning.

{Wrote this Saturday.  This blog is also my journal, so don’t expect this to be fun or interesting or anything else!  It’s purely for my own selfish purposes.}

So not my most favorite game.  Why do I listen to the doctor and get my hopes up?  I was right.  3 cm and 80% doesn’t mean ANYTHING.  I should know better.  I have braxton hicks like crazy, and lots of cramping.  My hips kill and feel like they’re going to dislocate.  Anything I swallow, prenatals included, gives me indigestion.  I pee 6082 times a day.  I’m bigger than a house, and I’m an emotional disaster.   

But in all honesty, I don’t necessarily know what I’m waiting for because I don’t know what a “real” contraction feels like!  With Samuel, my water broke 2 days after my due date, before any signs of labor (which I found out happens to only 8% of women–so much for hoping the same thing will happen this time.)  I remember driving to the hospital at 2:30 am and telling Erik, “Oh, maybe that was a contraction . . .”  Once checked in and on Pitocin, I only had back labor, which was atrocious.  The nurse said it was because of Sam’s position and the fact that I had lost my amniotic fluid.  I made it for maybe 30 minutes before getting that sacred epidural.

So here I sit, just waiting and waiting and waiting for something to happen.  I am so ready.  Samuel actually talks about the baby regularly, which is really fun.  He reminds me often that he gets to bring a monkey to “Baby Brudder.”  In all reality, I don’t think Sam has a clue what he’s in for.  Hehe.  But, probably niether do I!!  I just know I am so done with this part.  So so so so DONE.

I was 3 cm 80% effaced.  Baby is still sitting super high, which makes me super duper uncomfortable.  Lots of “contractions” but not the ones that are going to do anything.  Blah.  Had a good freak out moment last night, so I took off to Target for almost 2 hours to unwind.  Felt lots better with a renewed sense of optimism by the time I got home.  I love Target.

Today . . . who knows?

That’s right, I’m officially on the count DOWN.  I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll have this baby early.  I let the doctors convince me of that with Samuel, and I was sorely disappointed.  At this point I’m pretty much done being fat and uncomfortable.  I am over being pregnant.  I know, I’m such a whiner.  But I am really starting to miss the things that just aren’t possible anymore . . . like sleeping on my back, bending over to pick something up without losing my balance, or having a nice cold beer.  {Ok, don’t miss beer.  But I totally craved it when I was preggo with Sam, which is so strange because I’ve never had a sip in my life.}

But you know what I miss more than anything, what I cannot wait to be able to do again when this is over?  Hug Erik.  Yep.  After a stupid day like this one, all I want is a huge ol’ squeeze-a-roo from my hubster without this monstrous belly getting in the way.  8 weeks 2 days, 8 weeks 2 days, 8 weeks 2 days . . . !

Ears checked again today, still found infections.  Crazy crazy crazy that nothing will wipe this out!!!  Which meant shot number 4 today.  Pediatrician appointment Monday, ENT appointment Tuesday.  I think watching my baby getting his 4th shot in 5 days is hard, sure wonder what it’s going to be like to watch him wheeled away from me into surgery.  I know, I know, tubes are like the easiest quickest surgery ever.  I’m not complaining, just explaining.  We really are blessed.  Things could be so much worse, I know that.  And seriously, nothing stops the Samster.  Love that boy.

I use Stat-Counter.  And I check my blog’s FireStats.  I may not know who you are, but I know you’re there.  And now is the time to help, because I NEED IT!  Songs of sympathy, words of encouragement, wise pieces of advice.  Please share.  I am going out of my mind.  I am overcome with doubt, guilt, what-ifs, coulda-woulda-shouldas, and 8937 ranging emotions.  So please please please, comfort a crazy mama!  It can be your good deed for the day.

Here’s the story.  Samuel loved his blankets.  He loved chewing on his blankets.  {Are you noticing the past tense yet?!}  Three very specific blankets.  Since he was 5 months old, they had been his comfort, his soothing, and my sanity.  [Examples here, here, here, and here.]  He had just about chewed the corners to pieces, they were stained, and very stinky.  Sam also started getting super worked up when he couldn’t find a “good” corner to chew on.  In an act of desperation, we cut the corners off Thursday night.  In an act of even more desperation, we decided the best thing to do was get rid of the blankets completely.  [Sam wanted nothing to do with the blankets now that they were missing corners.]  So on Saturday, after a tortuous 45 minutes of non-stop screaming before finally falling asleep for his nap, we took Samuel to Build-a-Bear.  When we came home, Sam was excited to get his new dinosaur [even though the whole Build-a-Experience totally freaked him out.]  But we told him first he had to get rid of his yucky dirty blankets.  I thought it would help if I also dumped my blanket that until then was still folded underneath my pillow.�

It has been close to a nightmare ever since . . .

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

The days are actually almost ok.  It’s naptime and nights that are killing me.  Of course I wonder if I did the right thing, if I have scarred my sweet child for life, if he will ever ever EVER get over the loss of his blankets . . . I wonder that and a kajillion other things.  But it kills me.  It absolutely kills me that the pain and hurt that little boy is feeling is because of me, and nothing I do can make it better.  Samuel either screams or cries himself to sleep.  He wakes up from his naps early and he wakes up several times during the night inconsolable.

I’m just at such a loss.  I am overloaded with guilt, doubt, hurt, frustration, annoyance, anxiety, exhaustion, helplessness . . . Blah!!  I just don’t know!!!!

I’m pretty sure it’s not.  Because it’s not even one tiny bit funny.

Sam didn’t want to eat all morning.  He was mopey and whiny.  I noticed his hands were freezing and his head was warm.  By noon Sam was whimpery, snuggly, hotter, and . . . barfy.

Three stomach viruses in 2 months.  Are you kidding me?!  Boo.

Diarrhea still? Yes.  Vomitting again? Yes.  Infection gone? No.  Pain? Yes.  Fever? Finally, no.  Sleepless nights? Yes.  887 loads of laundry? Yes.  Lots of extra snuggles? Oh, yes.  Broken garage door? Not anymore.  Leaking ceiling? Yes.  Again? Yes!  In more than one place? Yes.  Arrests? Not yet.  A week worthy of daily blog posts? Heck, yes!

 Usually one blanket is good enough.  But not when you’re feeling yucky!  That is a pile of 5 blankets all underneath sick Sam.  And do you love the corners?  No, it’s not barf.  It’s just permanently stained from being chewed on for the last year.

 We made a quick trip to Wal-Mart last night.  Just doing our part to make life a little more bearable for Samuel.

Samuel is 15 months old today.  But he isn’t stupid.

I was going to do a post for 15 month old Samuel.  That was before I left my memory card still plugged in at Sam’s Club.  I also left my camera sitting on top of the machine.

Stupid.