Bittersweet

Last Tuesday Peter and I drove our little Annibelle to Riley Hospital in Indianapolis for a check-up on her heart. I'm always nervous when going to these appointments, as I always receive bad news; the kind that breaks my heart into a thousand pieces. I put on a brave smile, though, and carried my precious babe into the first room for her 'echo'. They asked if I'd like to hold her during the test, and I said "yes!" (the uptown location we'd been to in the past never let me hold her during this miserable, long test).
I climbed up onto the bed and unsnapped Annibelle's shirt for the test. I tried to allow myself to be distracted by "The Bee Movie" they had playing on the T.V. screen, and was glad Annibelle seemed to like it, but I couldn't help but peek at the echo monitor and see all the blue blood mixing with the red... I hardly understood what else I was seeing, but I knew it wasn't good. It never is. After more than an hour and a half of testing we finally got to snap up the baby and move to the next room to wait for the cardiologist to give us the results.
10 minutes later Dr. Farrell walks in and, in her unnaturally BOOMING voice, begins telling us all the bad news; "her arteries are too small, the valve is narrowing, she can't pump the blood she needs, she should be on the medication, if she were a newborn we'd schedule an immediate surgery!...." The list went on. Finally, though, a light at the end of the tunnel. Because of her large size and weight (which is truly rare for a baby with heart disease), they are willing to schedule the open heart surgery (the full repair!!!) for next month, even though she'll only be 5 months old.
I'd thought of this moment MANY times in the past 4 1/2 months; always playing it out in my mind, and how I might react. I was surprised to find that I felt relief. Relief that at some future date I wouldn't have to be afraid of my baby dying every time she cries. Relief that she will live, and live a happy, active life! Relief that every moment with her might not be the last. I was actually happy about the news!
We didn't get back home for another hour and a half, and when we did I started to come down from my 'high'. Peter went into his office to work, and I went into the family room to take care of our baby. As I sat down with her in my arms, tears began streaming down my face. Tears a relief, and now, tears of fear. With the surgery scheduled for just one month away, could I keep her alive? Though I filled the perscription for Annibelle, (the one that would slow her heart rate down and possibly help save her in an emergency), I just don't feel right about giving it to her. I worry that if she has an emergency and dies, that I could never forgive myself if I could have prevented it. I worry that something might go wrong with the surgery... or with the healing. I'm afraid for her; for the pain and fear she may feel. How I wish I could protect her from it all. I know I won't leave her side while she's in the hospital. I pray for her constantly, and know that it will all work out. She's strong. Stonger than me, I think.

When you get the life changing news that you're pregnant, you never expect to be faced with challenges such as this. It could be better... It could be worse. I'm just grateful for each day, and each moment I have with this little angel of mine. A simple "gummy" smile from her lights up my day.

The Ghost of Christmas Future...

I went to get my hair done a couple weeks ago. It had been 5+ months since the last visit to my hairstylist (which also happens to be my brother-in-law), and I was feeling rather unattractive. I decided I needed something bold to distract me from the stretch marks and such; something attractive I could focus on instead. We decided on a deep red; I'd had a similar color before and liked it a lot.
While Matt began to apply the color to my hair, he paused and said, "Look at that. I found a gray hair." I didn't believe him at first, but he had proof. There it was. Bold and proud. I gasped and pulled it out! I stared at is as I felt my youth slipping away. I imagined myself a ways down the road of life; all gray, bent over, and with even more stretch marks. I gasped again!
Peter walked back in the room about now and I raised my hand with the hair in it and said, "Look what you've done. You've given me my first gray hair!" (Okay, so it's probably really a gift from Annibelle, but I figured Peter needed just one so he wouldn't feel left out).
When we got home, after taking care of the baby, I taped that gray hair in my journal and wrote an entry; i'd neglected that little book far to long.
Finding that first, little gray hair was like having a visit from the ghost of Christmas future... in a nursing home. ...kind of puts things into perspective. There's a lot of life to live, and the clock is ticking! I think I'll go have a Reese's.

Sorry 'bout that sir

While grocery shopping yesterday I managed to run off with an old man's cart; on accident of course. Peter had been off pushing the baby in her stroller. Naturally, he showed up just in time for the old man to come over and ask me if I'd 'run off with the wrong cart'. I looked down. Hmm... I looked back to where I had just been. Yep. Sure enough, there was my cart. Over by the cookie dough. Oops. Sorry 'bout that, sir, but I recently lost my sanity.

Stupid Cats/5 more minutes

As the mother of an almost-4-month-old I don't get a whole lot of sleep. Basically, I try to only wake up just enough to do a quick diaper change, and move Annibelle to the other side so I can, hopefully, fall back asleep nursing her. My demon cat, Lammie, makes this really difficult, as she insists on sleeping in our room with us. (Which is usually a good idea, since she beats up Katie whenever she can get her cornered). The annoying part is that she is noisy... always knocking things over, scratching the scratch pad, or hitting the door to get out (or Jacks is pounding on it to get in). Lately, though, whenever I get up and head to the bathroom Lammie thinks it's because I need to feed her a can of food, (even though she has dry food in her dish). So around 6am this morning we go through this routine, but this time, as soon as I snuck back into bed, I heard a noise... What was she doing this time? I sat up to look; eeew. She threw up the can of food... right by the bedroom door! (Note to all: this is not normal behavior for my cats). I decide to let it go until I officially get up. I lay back down and close my eyes; Peter starts snoring. I hit him. Again, I try to fall back asleep... Lammie starts scratching the scratch pad; she stops. I close my eyes... The door starts banging around; I look for Lammie. It's Jacks on the other side trying to get in! I nudge Peter; he lets Jacks in. Jacks jumps on us and wants to lay on the baby... the SLEEPING baby. I nudge Peter and whisper for him to toss Jacks out; he does. Lay head back down... Lammie's at the door wanting out, and making a lot of noise about it. Finally I beg Peter to just throw all the cats outside, or somewhere; just don't wake the baby! Just let me get some sleep!!! I roll over and close my eyes, praying for some peace and quiet so I can sleep... then Annibelle starts fussing a bit; time to nurse again.
2 hours of sleep were lost.
Grrrrr...!
Stupid cats.
(Jacks got back in later and wanted to eat the vomit. Gross.)
(Katie threw up on the kitchen floor later in the day.... must have all caught a bug. Lucky me).

Absent minded chicken kabobs

My neighbor came over the other night to chat and fix food with me. My task? To cook the frozen chicken-kabobs in the oven, (while holding a conversation with her, and watching the baby). Well, as I mentioned previously, my multitasking skills have gone down the drain since becoming a mother, and this evening, in particular, I was really struggling! As I listened to her chatting, while stealing glances of Annibelle watching Baby Einstein from her bouncer, I proceeded to "prepare" the kabobs.
I turned on the oven, pulled out a baking sheet, covered it in foil and sprayed it for ultimate 'non-stickness". I then removed 1/2 of the frozen kabobs from their package and placed them on the prepared baking sheet while I tried desperately to check on the baby, and hold a conversation with my friend. (I confess, I was thinking about laundry too...).
Next, I put the remaining kabobs in a freezer storage bag and placed it in the freezer... or so I thought. When I turned around to put the baking sheet/kabobs into the oven, there were no kabobs on it! Where had they gone?! I looked over at the counter and realized I had put the ones from the baking sheet into the freezer! (duh!) Simple fix, right? Not if you're me! Rather than doing the obvious fix, and putting the extra kabobs (still in the packaging) onto the baking sheet, I, instead, pulled the freezer bag out of the freezer, replaced the kabobs to their previous 'pan positions', and proceeded to put the remaining, packaged kabobs into the freezer bag, and then into the freezer.
All the while, my friend is just staring at me, shaking her head. "Wow.", she said. "Wow."
I then put myself on time out and let her finish the baking.
...the kabobs were great.
(Can't help but look in the mirror and ask, "Who are you, and what have you done with my sanity?!"

Diaper? What diaper?

New born babies don't allow new born mommies a chance to sleep much, especially when the wee one is teething and is full of gassy tummy aches. Naturally, this leaves the tired mommy a bit absent-minded... so it should have come as no shock to me when I noticed my tiny tot all dressed up with no where "to go". I mean that quite literally. Where was her diaper? Because it certainly wasn't on her little bum!

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, I was a very talented person. At the interview for my most recent job I was asked the question, "What is your strongest quality?", my response? Multitasking. I could do it all! My sister, Kimra, used to call me "The Cleaning Tornado". I could clean her entire house, feed her kids and be working on the laundry in under an hour. I remember thinking to myself, 'this is easy. I'll be a great mom!' Well, it turns out there's a little secret about being a mother, and that is, when you become a mother, you are given a gift; a gift you'd rather not receive, and it is called, (drum roll please)... "Mommy Brain". Oh the joy of this gift! It turns an amazing woman, like my former self, into and absolute twit, like my current self.
Just this past week Annibelle received her very first tooth! (I couldn't be more proud of her for accomplishing such an amazing thing 3 1/2 months early!) Anyway, the 4 days before that cute little tooth made it's first appearance, my sweet, little polkadot, (as I call her), turned into a fire-spitting gremlin! What had become of my sweet little babe?! So I asked her. I held her up and said, "Who are you, and what have you done with my sweet, little babe?" The irony of this, is that just last night, after a particular spell of 'Mommy Brain', Peter said he should hold me up and say, "Who are you, and what have you done with wife". (I think he really meant, what have you done with my wife's sanity).
Alas, the greatest gift of all, becoming a mother, comes with the least desired gift, that of going from Einstein to idiot over night. It's a hard bite to chew. HOWEVER, on the bright side, it has, and will continue to, provide me with hilarious stories to share with you, (which never would have even been possible, back in my "Einstein days").
So, welcome to my blog! And join with me in laughing at myself in my new state of motherhood, and "idiocity".

Spilt Milk

I sat on the couch, eating a bowl of shredded wheat cereal. Peter and Annibelle sat in the recliner beside me. As a commercial came on, I unconsciously began shaking my 'empty' bowl to the beat of the music playing. Suddenly I felt something cold and wet all over my legs and feet; you guessed it, it was milk... Milk and a million of those little shredded wheat bits. Not only were my pajamas and feet covered in this, but also the couch and the floor. As I put my head in my hand, thinking, "what has happened to me?!", Jacks began licking up the remaining milk from the bowl, still in my right hand... I thought to myself, "story of my life". (My NEW life, that is). Peter just shook his head and laughed. Welcome to mommy-hood!