Well, folks… It finally happened. I met one of those moms. A CompetiMom. Read about my experience over at the Imperfect Parent.
I haven’t yet read any books in the Twilight series. I’ve tried, believe me I’ve tried. I just cannot get into them. I read a few sentences of the first book (my sister owns all the books currently released) and I was bored. People think I’m crazy, and promptly tell me how awesome these novels are, and I’m sure they are amazing. Just not my thing right now. I’ve got other books piling up on my “to-be-read” list.
This morning Dawson dragged a chair from the dining room into the kitchen and was scavenging the cabinets looking for something to eat. Something he probably shouldn’t have, like fruit snacks or Froot Loops straight out of the box. When I went into the kitchen to bust him, he turned around and said, “This happens every time. Daddy brings home the treats, and BOOM! They’re gone!” I fought the urge to laugh and replied, “Who do you think you are? Madden?” To which my son rolled his eyes and said, “I have no idea what that means.” I promptly peed my pants from the incessant laughter that followed.
Even funnier morning tale: Dawson was standing in the living room, playing with his new Transformers Bumblebee toy (that he conned me into buying when we went to K-Mart to pick up my prescriptions). He was explaining how it worked and said something like, “So you move his arms and then his legs and BAM! He’s a robot!” Continuing the witty reparte I said, “Dawson, you sound like Emeril.” Again, my child looked at me funny and replied, “Mom, you gotta stop saying such crazy things. I don’t know what a ‘Mer-ill is!” That child cracks me up.
I’m sick of being pregnant. I know that sounds horrible. I’m just anxious. I want to meet the little guy who kicks me incessantly. I want the bloating, the horrible ligament pain and the bat-shit crazy mood swings to be over. Nine weeks to go. NINE. Will I make it?
The nesting phase has begun. Yesterday morning, post work, post doctor appointments, I had this insane urge to organize the playroom slash exercise room. I began moving boxes and realized I needed help, so my awesome sister came over and helped me make sense of all the crap in the basement. All the holiday decorations were moved into the closet in our family room. Toys and books were sorted, and two boxes were set aside for Goodwill. Next, I cleaned out my closet and finally parted with some too small clothes I was clinging to. My sister took the ones she liked, the rest were given to GW. It was hard to get rid of some of those things, but I closed my eyes and the box before I changed my mind. In total, seven boxes were loaded into the Jimmy, and Goodwill was very happy to receive them.
Today, I have a nagging urge to start organizing the room that Dawson and Baby O will share. I’m starting to look at the things in my house as entirely too much crap. Where did all this stuff come from? And how do I decide what to save, what to toss and what to donate?
Both UPS and FedEx dropped packages at the front door yesterday. I received the really awesome thing I won from bTrendie (in a BlogHer giveaway) and then we also got Hooked on Phonics (Parent Bloggers Network campaign) and Dawson and I are excited to try HoP. Stay tuned for more details on that.
My wonderful husband has decided to finally get down to business and remove the old, ugly, yellow shag carpet from the other spare bedroom downstairs. (I have only asked four hundred times.) I’ve decided I need an office, with a door, to work in peace. Currently, I do my work from the kitchen table or the sofa. I’m thinking a desk is needed, too. I just don’t want to spend too much money with a new baby on the way. I’m sure we’ll figure something out.
I’ve got a confession to make. I’m addicted to watching Roseanne re-runs on TV Land. I can’t help it. I love the early years of this show because it reminds me so much of my family (circa the 80s) when I was growing up. We were the typical middle class family, two hard working parents trying to make ends meet, two daughters and one son… And then it became even more real when Roseanne had a son later in life, just like my mother had my youngest brother at 39. Then the Conners won the lottery (JUMPED THE SHARK) and I couldn’t stand it anymore. So, I suppose I’m reliving some old memories by watching those pre-lottery winning episodes.
I’m in love with the DVR. We’ve had it for a month now, and I don’t know how we ever got along with out it. I record Phineas & Ferb for Dawson, and that Transformers cartoon that airs at 5:00 a.m., and movies I’d like to see but don’t have the time right now. It’s entertainment magic. Love, love, love. It will come in handy when Dancing With the Stars airs in three weeks. Yay! Miss that show terribly, but I’m sure a certain baby arriving will make it hard to watch the show live.
I think I’m suffering from ADD. I want to read seven different books all at once, good books, from the library. Due in 12 days. I’m starting to mix up the story lines and information (some are non-ficiton). Perhaps I should just stick to one book at a time.
Back to pregnancy… I’m feeling a wee bit claustrophobic. Antsy. And my arms and legs and stomach itch every so often. I’m starting to think the baby is trying to bust out. October, please hurry.
This has been one of the craziest weeks of the year. Running around to doctor and dentist appointments (and dealing with incompetent receptionists). Filling out 4K paperwork. Grocery shopping. Bill paying. Cleaning the house. Laundry. (Oh, the laundry!) The death of my neighbor.
This morning, my dear friend Lori had a c-section. She went to the hospital at 5 a.m., her surgery was scheduled for 7 a.m. and now I am waiting patiently for the news. She decided not to know the gender, as this is her third child and she and her husband did find out with her son and daughter. I can’t wait to find out if Z & H have a new brother or sister.
Tomorrow we have a wedding to attend. My cousin is getting married. Huge Polish wedding. Polka dancing. Chicken soup with potatoes. Yum.
Sunday evening is my neighbor’s wake, and Monday morning is the funeral.
I feel like I’m witnessing the full circle of life; a birth, a wedding and a death. All in one week.
My day planner is packed with little notes and to-dos and appointments. With Dawson’s first day of 4K fast approaching, we’re trying to squeeze in as much quality time together as we can.
Doug and I have decided to take a trip to the Dells of the Eau Claire River next week. It’s been several years since I’ve been there. I think I was 12 the last time I went. With my parents of course.
It’s a beautiful park in Marathon County, about 45 minutes Northeast. I’d like to take some family pictures there, so I’ll be dragging the Canon and the tripod. Doug isn’t thrilled, he hates pictures, but I think it would be nice to have one last photo of our family of three.
Our first MOPS meeting is in three weeks. I’m on the steering team, co-chair of the Sunshine Committee. We have one last team meeting on the 25th to get ready for our club meeting. I can’t believe our summer break is almost over. I’m glad to get back into the swing of things, however. I miss my friends. We’ve all been so busy this summer.
Monday evening is Moms’ Night Out. I’m very excited to get out of the house, if only for one evening. I feel like I’ve been trapped in wife-and-mom mode. I need time out to talk about anything other than school and laundry and which Transformers cartoon we should watch next.
I’m now 30 weeks pregnant, (and my baby weighs as much as a cabbage…who knew?). Ten weeks to go. It still feels like an eternity, but I also feel like the birth of this baby is sneaking up on me. I know that makes little sense, but if you were in my head right now, you would understand completely.
The other day Doug and I were talking about some invitations we’ve received for events happening in October and November. It suddenly dawned on me that we may have to decline several due to the fact that I’ll be nursing and it’s very hard for me to leave my babies. (I didn’t leave Dawson with a babysitter, other than our daycare person, until he was almost six months old, and that’s only because Doug insisted on taking me to dinner for my birthday.)
I had a bit of a panic attack, because I realized I’m starting over again. Dawson is almost five years old. He was potty trained at age 3, I haven’t had to change a diaper in two years (still wiping a butt, though). My son is capable of feeding himself, dressing himself, bathing himself (still have to wash his hair, however) and he knows how to pick up his toys when he’s done playing with them. Okay, I do have to ask him a few times, but he does it.
In ten short weeks I will be at the beck and call of a tiny, helpless baby, one who depends on me for nourishment, clothing and comfort. I’ve wanted another child for so long, and I’m so grateful that my wish has finally come true. I just think I’m finally facing the reality that life will be changing once again. I’m slowing wrapping my head around that fact.
Yesterday I dragged a huge Rubbermaid tote of baby clothes out of the closet and started sorting through them. I made piles by size and did several loads of laundry. As I was folding the onesies, sleepers and adorable outfits that Dawson once wore, memories of his baby days came flooding back. I can’t believe how quickly five years has passed. What happened to that little one, the Doodlebug, who fit in the crook of my arm and looked up at me so adoringly? Now I’m lucky to get a hug without asking for one. My “baby” is growing up too fast. I don’t think I like it.
I want to write about our traumatic immunization experience from Wednesday, and I have a few other happenings I think are blog worthy. It’s just a matter of getting organized around here. So much to do, so little time.
Thank goodness it’s Friday. Here’s hoping the weekend isn’t chaotic. I’m praying next week is less insane.
On Tuesday, my husband celebrated his 39th birthday for the third year in a row. Yes, that means he’s really…. can I say how old he is on the blog, because he threatened to tell people I have gray hair at 30. Ooh, I’m scared. Considering I’ve already blogged about my getting gray hair much earlier than I’d like to admit, I figure telling the internet he’s 41 is fair game.
To celebrate Doug’s birthday we went on a family fishing trip. Doug loaded and hitched the boat and we dropped anchor on the Wisconsin River at Galecki Park near our house. After slathering on a ton of sunscreen we settled in for some line fishing. Okay, I didn’t fish, because that whole thing is not my bag. I read a book and took photos while Doug and Dawson waited patiently for the fish to bite.
The weather was gorgeous, around 75 degrees and not too humid. The sun was shining, with a few clouds here and there, and a light breeze swept the air. We had a marvelous time. And three hours later, just before we had decided to go back to the dock, an amazing thing happened:
Dawson caught his first fish, a walleye, and he was beyond excited! He was so happy and so proud of his accomplishment. Doug and I were so proud, too!
Doug helped him cast the line, and showed him how to jig, and after many long moments of waiting and a few snags, suddenly something pulled on his line. Dawson didn’t even realize it was a fish at first. He thought he had another snag. But Doug instructed him to reel in his line, and Dawson was so excited when he realized he had to fight the fish into the boat.
“Daddy! It’s a strong fish! Help!”
Doug told him to keep reeling, and once the fish was out of the water he helped Dawson get him into the boat for a picture. The smile on our son’s face was so magical, and so priceless. I was so happy for him. Dawson couldn’t wait to tell his grandpas about his first catch. We took a little video to remember the occasion:
(Please ignore my husband’s attempt to ignore the camera. He hates pictures, and always looks so crabby on video. He’s really NOT a serial killer, even though he looks like one in this vid.)
It was 7 a.m. when Dawson woke up and padded down the hallway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Mommy,” he said as he climbed onto the couch, “I had a dream about my friend. He said naughty words.”
My eyes grew wide and I tried to figure out what to say.
“Umm,” I started. “Your friend said naughty words in your dream?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What kind of naughty words?” I was afraid to ask, but I figured it would be a teaching moment.
Dawson grew quiet and hid his face under his blanket.
“I don’t want to say,” he said. “You’ll be mad at me.”
“I won’t be mad, you can tell me anything.” I told him.
“Well, he said ‘bitch’ and that’s a bad word, right?” Dawson asked.
“Yes, that’s a bad word.” I paused, “Do you know other bad words, Dawson?”
“Uh-huh. I heard the neighbor say ‘fuck’.” Dawson replied.
I nearly fainted.
“Dawson that’s a really bad word. We don’t say that word, okay? If you ever hear anyone say that word, even Mommy or Daddy, you have permission to tell them it’s not okay to say that word.”
Dawson nodded his head. A few minutes later he said, “Mom, you can’t say that other bad word, okay?”
“Which bad word?” I asked.
He giggled and said, “Moron. You can’t say that. It’s a bad word.”
I just smiled. Then I asked, “Does Daddy ever say bad words?”
Dawson looked at me and giggled again. “Yeah, he said ‘God dang-it’ when I left my toys on the stairs.”
I had to fight back the laughter.
Looks like we’ll be having a family discussion about swear words very soon.
Dana began her Mom career in 2004 with the birth of her first son, Dawson, aka The Doodlebug, and little brother, Owen, was born in 2009. She spends her days putting out fires, climbing mountains and chasing monsters. More About Dana.
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