Ten Eight Things On My Mind

On the one hand, I don't feel like I have the energy or attention span lately to formulate an entire post on a single subject. On the other hand, I hate neglecting the reader(s) of my blog. So I've decided to give you this rambly, disjointed list of things on my mind instead of any articulate, cohesive thoughts.

You're welcome.

1. All three girls are loudly playing Dora Candyland around the kitchen table. It's been at the very top of the game closet for a long time, so they don't quite remember how to play it. Uno, in what I assume to be typical oldest child fashion, is making up the rules ... in her favor. The other two haven't caught on yet, but it sounds like they're having fun so I'll stay out of it.

2. My sister and her family came up from Atlanta to spend the 4th of July weekend with us. I love that they're close enough to make road trips viable, and that her family enjoys road trips so much (I do, but DH isn't such a fan, boo-hoo). All the girls miss their cousins, but Tres, especially, (who at 2yo has a less firm grasp on the realities of time) keeps asking when she can see them again. Every morning she wakes up hoping to see the boys chilling in their sleeping bags in the living room and every morning she's disappointed. Awwww!

3. I'm a little more than half way through my fourth pregnancy (fifth, if you count the one that ended early), and I'm getting nervous -- as always -- that I won't know it if I'm going into labor. I've never felt contractions without the help of pitocin; the first time, my water broke on its own and then nothing happened for a day (at which point they gave me the kick start) and each of the other times I've been induced. We're planning an induction this time, as well, but what happens if Cuatro tries to come on her own a little early? Will I know? What if I don't?

Obviously, I know what contractions feel like at the very end -- they hurt, lol. But I've been hooked up to monitors plenty of times by now, right before or just after being dosed with Pitocin, and seen contractions come and go on the screen that I never feel (or at least not strongly enough to differentiate them from other 9-month discomforts). And even when I do start to feel them, they're not the distinct and measurable contractions I understand other women experience. It's not Zero Pain, Oy That Hurts, Now It's Over For X Number of Minutes So Stop the Stopwatch! I'd have no idea how to time them because it's more like (Ever-present) Vague Discomfort, Gradual Increase of Discomfort With No Distinct Beginning, Gradual Easing (but not cessation) of Discomfort With No Distinct End. By the time I know for sure it's not just the usual aches and pains of pregnancy, the contractions are right on top of each other and I'm minutes from delivering.

So yeah. You'd think I'd know how to do this by now, on my fourth kid, but I still worry. If it doesn't happen as planned (no labor whatsoever until I arrive at the hospital and am suitably supervised!), I'm not going to know it's happening at all until it's too late. Eeeeek!

4. I had an appointment with the specialist last week (I get monthly ultrasounds to make sure she's growing on target; apparently clotting disorders can make for small babies and/or low fluid levels) and DH came with me. After we finished with my doctor, we (well, he -- but I tagged along) had a lunch meeting with some of the staff of that hospital so that DH, in his capacity as Medical Director of our little hospital's ER, could meet some of the big city doctors he sends his more seriously ill patients on to. Several of the doctors asked where I was from as we made introductions, and I always replied, "out West."

Here's the thing: I love my home state of Utah. It has gorgeous scenery, dry heat in the summer, it's easy to navigate, the people are friendly, and it's ... home. But I hate to reveal that I'm from there because then people assume they know all about me -- and in one sense, they're right; I am a walking cliché: "Are you Mormon?" Yes. "Did you grow up with tons of brothers and sisters?" Yep, I'm the third of eight. "Did you go to BYU?" For one shameful semester, lol, and then I wised up. But just because they know something about me doesn't mean they know anything about me, if you know what I mean. I hate to let them think that they do.

I am far more than the sum of my demographic parts, thank you very much.

5. This is a very random one, but I wonder if anybody watches Jay Leno anymore. I don't, on principle. I know the whole Tonight Show fiasco of last Spring wasn't entirely his fault -- he didn't personally steal Conan's job; it's more like he (gleefully) ended up in possession of stolen property after the NBC execs ripped Conan off. Hmmmm. Anyway. The whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth. I used to tune in occasionally for the wacky headlines or the Jay Walking skits, but now I use that time slot to catch up on shows I've DVRed.

6. We are in the process of trying to buy a house -- the second one from my Window Shopping post, in fact (the first one got snatched up -- after almost two years on the market -- a couple weeks after I blogged about it). The house is more than 100 years old, so DH wants to be extra extremely thorough with the inspections. We had a general inspection already, but DH has called friends of his or his dad who are electricians, plumbers, and HVAC professionals, respectively, to take a more detailed look. He figures that if we're already going to be paying two mortgages (somebody, ANYBODY want to buy a house in small town Idaho???) we don't need to get into a money pit that constantly needs repair. He's right, of course. But I'm just anxious to have it all settled. I need to nest!

7. And on that note: The previous owners painted the middle of each kitchen cabinet with white paint and decorative blue flowers. If everything goes well and we get the house, I will change that. My question is, can I repaint the cabinets to look like regular wood again? Or will I have to paint all of the cabinets in a solid (non-wood stain) color? What about the wood trim throughout the rest of the room? Would it look weird if it were different from the cabinets?

8. I love The Electric Company on PBS. The music is fabulous. Silent E is totally a ninja. :-)

Huh. I had meant to blog ten things, but my mind is completely blank and now Uno is begging to use the computer so she can make a fairy at Pixie Hollow. So I guess that's all. :-P


~RCH~

Wherein I ramble about, you know, stuff

DH is a girly man

If you're my Facebook friend, you already know the news: Numero Cuatro (thanks for the spelling correction, Alison! I had no idea!) is another girl. Apparently DH has no Y chromosomes, lol. I thought I would be ecstatic at that news -- I have always been a girls' girl; boys seem like an alien race I've never been able to figure out (so how could I parent one?). I love being a mom of daughters. I love to see the bond of sisterhood developing among these first three. Honestly, I've always felt a little (or a lot) relieved to get a girl.

But.... But....

This is final. There will be no Cinco. Our last name will die out with DH. I feel very conflicted about that. I feel like I've "won" at DH's expense, or something.

I was talking to a guy the other day who (I believe) was trying to congratulate me on having so many girls, though his comments later caused me to have a giant hormonal meltdown. He said that having a son after having two daughters was amazing in an unexpectedly different way because he could look into that tiny baby's eyes and really know what life had in store for him: What it might feel like to get picked on in the boy's locker room, or to nervously ask a girl out on a first date, or whatever. I think he meant to say that I was lucky to have that bond of automatic empathy with all of my children. Later, though, all I could think about was what DH would never have.

My meltdown began with a few silent, stoic tears -- but then DH, who insists that talking things out is a good thing (grumble, grumble), made me tell him what was wrong. The more I tried to spit it out, the sobbier I got until I was choking on tears and could no longer breathe through my stuffed up nose. It was awesome. (Why can't he just leave me alone until the emotional moment passes? Distract me rather than making me focus on the sadness? Talking-schmalking, I say! GEEZ.)

He insists he's happy to have four girls, and I believe him. He says that having daughters "softens" him in a way he needs; he worries that if he had a son, he'd be as hard on him as he is on himself (or as his dad was with him growing up). I shouldn't be sad on his account, he tells me. (And besides, it's his fault, lol.)

But.... But....


Names

If Cuatro had been a boy, he'd be named already (with the boy name we picked out for Uno). But Fate Babyess remains nameless. It's tricky, because each of the other girls have names with Significance! Uno is named after two of the best women I know, her grandmothers; Dos is named after a courageous religious figure; Tres is named for two sisters of DH's grandfather, feisty, funny, hard-working women he admired.

Cuatro, too, needs something to inspire her, something to live up to -- not just a name that sounds nice (though that would be cool too, lol). And plus it ought to go well with the other girls' names, which are all old fashioned and on the strong side of the strong - prissy continuum. If we go the family name route, it ought to be from my side this time (for the sake of symmetry). I would also consider names of religious, historical, and/or literary significance -- but the farther it gets from a personal connection with the name, the better the name would have to be to make the cut.

Oh, and I have five sisters who all have beautiful names that would fit my criteria, but I can't use any of them because then the others would think I loved that sister better. (And even if they didn't -- because really, my sisters aren't petty like that -- it just doesn't seem right.) So that's five good names off the table right there. :-P

See? No pressure at all. Don't know why we haven't figured something out yet.


Maternity pants

I hate them. They always feel like they're falling down, no matter how huge my belly gets. I still have one pair of regular jeans I can squeeze into, and two pairs of knit pants. I will resist the maternity pants for as long as possible.


The great debate

I almost forgot to mention! We discussed my clotting condition -- and my complete lack of any actual clotting -- with the Maternal-Fetal specialist on Monday. In her opinion, I do not need anticoagulation. (Insert mental picture of me doing the happy dance.) I asked her about baby aspirin, but she felt that any potential benefits were too small to risk its side effects, especially toward the end of the pregnancy. So it's nothing. YAY!!!

I did buy some purple grape juice and ginger ale at the grocery store yesterday. And I'll try to eat stuff with garlic in it. I've read that each of those has natural anticoagulant properties. Maybe that will ease DH's fears? Couldn't hurt, anyway. Woo-hoo! :-)


Tres's favorite joke

TRES: Knock-knock!

RCH: Who's there?

TRES: [Anything random]

RCH: [Anything] who?

TRES: K-K! [Pumps fist in the air] YESSS!!!

I don't have the slightest idea what the joke means, or why Tres seems to think she's pulling one over on us when telling it (which she'll do over and over until we answer, "Nobody's home!"). But she thinks she's hilarious.


~RCH~

What's up with the Turnip

I signed up for a weekly newsletter that updates me on my pregnancy every Friday. It tells me how the little Fate Baby should be developing, what it can do (hear and sense light, recently), how I should expect to feel, and answers to common questions. All very fascinating. I'm not sure why this stuff still interests me, four babies on; it's hardly novel anymore. I guess it helps me feel connected to the little parasite taking over my belly.

For the record, this week the baby is the size of a turnip (last week he or she was an avocado).

DH got to come to my second doctor's appointment, which was last Tuesday. I can't remember how many times he accompanied me to OB visits in previous pregnancies, but I guarantee it wasn't very often (if at all). The first time, he was a busy medical student; then he was a busy resident; then he was one of only two doctors in an entire rural county and couldn't take time off. Now, as the director of the ER, he's the one making the schedule, woo-hoo-hoo-wah-ah-ah! Which may actually be irrelevant, because he makes the schedule way in advance. So really it was coincidental that he had that day off, but in any case I'm grateful. MIL came over to take the older two girls to school (their second-to-last day) and play with Tres. DH and I left the house just after 7am to make the 8:30 appointment; thanks to some unexpected construction, we showed up just a few minutes late ... and then had to wait for about two hours before the nurse called my name. Normally I'd be annoyed by that, but DH had me laughing all morning. It felt more like a date than a doctor's appointment. It's silly to say, but I felt wooed. :-)

...Until we got back to the room, of course, at which point I felt ganged up on, lol. I say that only half seriously; both my doctor and my husband want the best for me, which I appreciate, but I disagree with their conclusions about what that should be: They want me to prophylactically treat my clotting disorder, despite the fact that I've never personally had any problems because of it (my sister has, but I think she soaked up all the bad luck in the family and the rest of us are fine). Apparently I have a 10% greater chance than the average pg woman of having a blood clot. (The stats get worse for women who have a personal history of clotting already, or who have inherited the mutation from both parents instead of just one.) "That may not seem like a lot," the doctor said, "unless you consider that the potential bad outcome of, say, a pulmonary embolism is DEATH."

Oh sure, play the death card why don't you!

*Sigh.* The decision is allegedly mine, but I have a feeling that I'll be guilted into shooting myself in the legs a couple times a day, every day, with blood thinners that leave huge, ugly, painful bruises -- despite the 90% chance that it's for no reason at all, that I'd be "preventing" something that never would have happened to me in the first place.

Is it okay if I feel bitter about that? Because I do. Stupid mutated genes, grumble, grumble.

The rest of the appointment consisted of discussing my Advanced Maternal Age, yay. I'm still a spring chicken, birthing-wise, but I will turn 35 (the magic Old Lady age) before the end of the pregnancy and thus I've been dumped into that category of high risk and defective eggs. This means I get to consult with a Maternal-Fetal specialist a week from tomorrow (an appointment DH will also get to come to!): We will visit with a genetic counselor, have an ultrasound (I'll be 18 weeks -- maybe they'll be able to tell me what flavor this kid is?), then meet with the M/F specialist herself. Sounds like it'll be a fun way to spend a morning -- unless, of course, my eggs do turn out to have been defective in any way (in which case I'll be even more grateful that DH is there with me).

At last week's appointment we also decided which hospital I'll go to to have the baby (and we're definitely planning on induction, given the distance -- if I waited for contractions, I'd likely end up having the baby in the car somewhere in the middle of nowhere with bad cell phone reception). The city has two very good hospitals, one Catholic and one private. We decided to go with the Catholic hospital because it's closer by about 15 minutes (which may or may not be critical when it comes right down to it!), my OB says they have better digs for the dads, and plus what if they have nuns for nurses? Ooooh! LOL. I'm such a nerd, but that last part especially excites me.

Anyway, that's the news on the turnip for this week. I'm getting bigger (though mostly not in maternity clothes yet -- geez, I hate maternity clothes!) and soon even random strangers will know I'm knocked up. Quick funny story and then I'll end: We waited for quite a while to tell Uno and Dos because they are big blabber mouths. The Sunday after we told them, they blurted out the news to their Primary teacher at church. As the teacher related to me later, she said, "How exciting! Are your mom and dad telling people yet?" The girls answered, in all their enthusiasm and innocence, "No -- but we are!" Tee-hee.

And that is all for now.


~RCH~

:: Bangs head against the wall ::

Oh my goodness. I can't believe I'm adding a 4th to this mix.

It's been one of those days all day long: I woke up with frazzled nerves (DH says I mumbled all night long, so I guess what sleep I got was not the restful kind -- for either of us) and every single sound the kids have made has grated on me all day. This morning we had happy fort-building noises, then squealy-screamy fighting-over-a-balloon noises, then the sounds of the older two practicing for their second-ever piano lessons with Grandpa. (We don't have a piano, sadly, but we got a mini keyboard at Radio Shack. Which means the girls enjoy laying down a kickin' synthesizer drum beat behind their repetitive three-note song. AWESOME.)

I got some peace at noon when I put Tres down for a nap and DH, who had the day off, took the other girls to his parents' house for their piano lessons. But I blinked and they were home, those children with their inability to whisper, and Tres woke up before she should have. Cue the loud video game noises, the hey-it's-my-turn! noises, the I'm-huuuuuuungry whining. I tried to lie down for much of the afternoon, since DH was home to pick up the slack, but Tres kept coming in every few minutes to kiss my headache or give me an imaginary bandaid with fairies on it. Sweet, but still not terribly restful.

Still very frazzled feeling.

Bedtime consisted of the usual craziness, the herding of reluctant, easily distracted cats toward pajamas and tooth brushing and story time. Dos livened things up by throwing a fit at one of my choices of stories, and then throwing a bigger fit when I acquiesced and stopped reading the objectionable story. So I cut reading time short (see, I have this crazy rule that you don't get to kick your mother without a consequence) and put everyone in their own beds. Tres cried and screamed because she didn't want to be cooped up in her crib yet. Dos continued to wail and flail over who knows what (she was so tired, anything I'd have done would have been wrong in her eyes). Uno remained the very picture of calm; I think she likes it when Dos has tantrums because it makes her (Uno) seem so rational.

Ay yi yi.

They're not asleep yet. Dos sobbed for a long while -- "I only wanted Mommy to read me that story! I promise I wouldn't throw a fit anymore!" -- and I almost felt bad. Sometimes I'm torn between wanting to be merciful and actually teaching them that kicking your mom (or anyone else) is wrong. Sigh. But it worked out all right; I can hear Uno reading amazing true facts about weather to her by the light of their night light. It's not the book Dos wanted (or didn't want, depending on which moment you asked her) but it's calmed her down; the girls still get their story and I get to stick to my guns. It seems like a reasonable compromise all around, so I will not go in and remind them to go to sleep yet.

*SIGH.*

I feel so fried. I felt fried by 9am, and this was a day when I had DH home with us the whole time! Those days are rare! What am I going to do when squealy-screamy Quatro gets here? You know I won't be getting any restful sleep then! How will I survive? How in the world did my mom raise eight of us and stay so sweet and sane??

Clearly I am not her.


~RCH~

Babies, babies, babies!

For weeks I've been terrorized by this bird nearly every time I left the house:



We have two bushes to either side of the front porch; whenever I walked past the one closest to the driveway, this sweet little bird would bolt out of the bush, scaring the crap out of me. (You'd think I'd come to expect it, but I'd startle every time.)

It finally occurred to me that if the same bird kept returning to the same low bush, she probably had a nest inside. So earlier this week I checked. I carefully pulled apart the branches and peeked inside, expecting to find an empty nest that I could show the girls. But what did I see instead?



These guys!



Aren't they the cutest things ever?

Their position in the bush is right at the older girls' eye level, so now every time we go outside we (carefully, quietly, and respectfully) check on the babies. I get hourly reports each afternoon after school:

"The babies are sleeping!"

"The babies are waiting for their mama to bring them some worms!"

"The mama bird was with them, and I didn't even scare her away! I don't think she knew I was watching them!"

I have no idea how long it takes for baby robins to grow up and learn to fly, but I'm sure we'll all be sad when they do. In the meantime, I totally love these little guys. They're so, so sweet.

Plus, being able to feel excited about babies, generally -- even little birdie ones -- helps me feel a little more excited about my own (completely unexpected and possibly immaculately conceived) baby. Look for Quatro to debut in late October or early November. :-P

So there. Now the announcement has been made. But mostly you should gush over how adorable our baby birds are. CUTEST. THINGS. EVER. :-)


~RCH~

Anybody else have this issue?

Any other Blogger bloggers, that is:

For the last couple months, I've been repeatedly hit by Asian spam commenters every week or so. They hit 10-15 posts at once, leaving a big long link in Asian characters with the odd English word thrown in the mix (志色教館,AV女優,SEX,咆哮小老鼠,85cc免費影片, as copied & pasted from a recent comment). It's pretty obviously porn.

I can go in and delete them, of course, and that's what I've been doing. 10-15 permanent deletes, one at a time, every week or so. But it's annoying. I'm losing patience.

I changed my posting options so that my blog won't be crawled by search engines; I'm not sure how else random porn spammers would find me. That hasn't seemed to help, though. I'm beginning to wonder if I should set my blog to private, at least for a little while until they stop harassing me. But maybe that's equally annoying?

UGH. Anybody else have this problem? Or is it just lucky me? What should I do?


~RCH~

The Mysterious Case of the Doorbell in the Night

Once upon a time last Sunday night, DH helped me put the girls to bed and then left for his 12-hour shift in the ER. I putzed around the house for a while, considered the laundry (and then didn't do any), enjoyed the quiet and finally, at around 10pm, put on my own pajamas and headed to bed.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.

I sat up. Who would ring the doorbell after 10pm? I wasn't expecting anyone. I didn't want to answer the door in my PJs. I figured I could safely ignore it, so I lay back down ... until I remembered that I hadn't locked the deadbolt when DH left.

I got up, tiptoed to the door in case someone was still patiently waiting for me to answer, very slowly and quietly turned the lock and then ran back to bed.

I had no idea who could have been at the door, but I didn't think much of it. It could have been an inconsiderate neighbor wanting to borrow ingredients for a late night snack; it could have been some stranger with a flat tire wanting to use the phone (though who doesn't have a cell these days? Even I do, and I hate phones!). In any case, it likely had nothing to do with me, personally, and when I didn't answer they moved on to someone else or gave up entirely. After that single ring of the bell -- nothing, and I went to sleep.

Until 1:15 in the morning, when the deep silence of a sleeping house was shattered by the tinny sound of the doorbell.

I sat straight up in bed. The house was locked. I had no intention of opening the door. But who could it be?

My half-asleep brain spun through a Rolodex of odd possibilities: Maybe MIL was in trouble and needed a place to spend the night (though she'd go to SIL's before coming here). Maybe one of my far away family or friends had taken a spontaneous road trip to see me, and wanted to surprise me as soon as they arrived, no matter the time (wishful thinking! Though for the record, please call before ringing the bell in the middle of the night). Maybe some desperate unwed mother had abandoned her baby on our stoop and wanted to make sure I found him before morning, before he would have succumbed to the elements (yeah, I told you I was still half asleep!).

Nothing made any sense. I felt vaguely uneasy. The door remained quiet again for almost an hour, and then the ringing began again -- more frequently, more aggressively. Every couple of minutes, the doorbell would ring two or three times in quick succession. Ignoring it would not be an option if I wanted the kids to stay asleep, if I wanted to get any sleep.

But what could I do? There I was, defenseless, a woman alone in the house with three small children to protect. More ominous possibilities ran through my head now: What if someone was out there waiting for my resolve to wear down, and when I finally did answer the door to make him stop, he'd rush in and attack me? Someone too lazy or drugged out to pick a lock, or someone who gets off on the psychological assault as much as the physical...?

I've never been nervous about DH working nights; I've never let my imagination run wild over the phantom creaks and groans of a house or random bangs and bumps in the night. I love the feeling of having the whole dark, quiet world to myself. But these noises were not the passive sounds of the house shifting and settling, these were forceful, insistent -- and most creepy of all, external -- noises that would not let me go.

I texted DH at work, hoping he wasn't too busy with a medical emergency to help me with my domestic one. "It's 2am. Someone keeps ringing the bell," I wrote, "and it's FREAKING ME OUT."

He called right back. "Have you checked to see who it is?" he asked. No, I said. We don't have a peephole in the door, and I didn't want to risk peeking through the curtains of the big picture window for fear that whoever was out there would see me (or, for that matter, that I would see him and confirm my worst fears). "Just look," DH said.

I peeked quickly from the far edge of the curtain. I saw no one. Of course, I wouldn't if he were standing very close to the door.

I told DH. The doorbell rang again. "Okay," he said, "Why don't you stand on a chair and look down through the half circle window at the top of the door, just to make sure. There won't be any blind spots from there."

I slowly dragged a kitchen chair across the carpet. I stood on it and rose up on my tiptoes, terrified that I would look down and meet a pair of eyeballs staring back at me.

I checked.

The porch was empty.

"No one," I told DH.

"You know how that doorbell sticks sometimes?" he said. "Sometimes you have to push it twice to get it to stop buzzing? I bet it has a short in the wiring. See if you can find a switch to turn it off and call me back."

I dragged the chair beneath the doorbell chimes and removed the case. No switch, but a clear and simple diagram of the wiring: One master wire; one wire for the front door; one wire for the back (though we don't have a back door, so go figure that one); each wire connected to a metal loop to complete the circuit. I dug out a screw driver and pried the front door wire away from its connection. It took a few tries because the wire was so used to curling securely around the loop that it kept falling back into place. Every touch of the screwdriver to the wire set off sparks and a new round of frenzied ringing.

Miraculously, none of the children woke up through any of this.

Finally I had it disconnected. I called DH to report my success. "You see?" he said. "Nothing to worry about. We live in a very safe neighborhood. You're going to be fine. Besides," he teased, "if any more of those very polite burglars come back, just do what you did before -- don't open the door."

UGH.

He would understand if he were a girl. I wasn't worried about being robbed. There are worse things than having your stuff stolen.

Still keyed up from all the tension of the night, I turned on the TV to help me unwind. I watched a DVRd episode of Bones -- because what's more calming than a forensic crime drama? -- and finally fell asleep around 4am.

I rose again at 7am to get the girls ready for school, exhausted but relieved to be done with the mysterious case of the doorbell in the night.


~RCH~