Wet???

Let me tell you what freaks Henry out more than almost anything. Change. Don't worry, this post isn't going where you probably think it is...it goes without saying that he's in for a big one sometime in the next few weeks. It also goes without saying that my most heart-tugging concerns about the coming weeks revolve around our biggest boy. And, it ALSO goes without saying that I am going to do everything that I can do to make him feel as comfortable, happy, settled, calm, and adjusted as possible...in fact, I think if I can embrace those qualities my ownself and let them permeate the air in our house, he will follow suit beautifully.

But, no, that's not what this post is about. No, this post is yet another account of the mundane (yet marvelous) details of keeping constant company with a 20-month old. My favorite thing to write about of late.

Last week, we took a drive somewhere...can't remember where, not important to the story. When we're in the car, I play a Thomas the Train soundtrack on repeat. It's his favorite these days. As soon as I load him into the backseat, in fact, the ardent requests for "Choo-choo....CHOO-CHOO!" begin. So, in this case, we were choo-chooing along the interstate, and little man suddenly starts wiggling all around and shrieking, "Dance, mommy, dance!!" Despite the difficulty of busting a move while driving with a basketball, errr...make that a globe, in my lap, I got on it. A little shoulder bump, a little crazy 80s head-shake, a little crank of the volume to keep it real. And he copied my every move...heehee, he definitely get it ALL from his mama! We are so cool, I know.

Fast-forward about 30 seconds.

Suddenly, the excitement from the backseat came to a screeching halt. Crying commenced. The cry was half sad and half panic and very urgent. Still singing at the top of my tone-deaf lungs, I turn around to see what's the matter. As my eyes meet his, he wimpers, "Mama, wet...yucks...wet." I ask him, "what's wet and yucky, Henry?" He puts his hands on hsi head and says, "Hen's hair."

It only took me a few seconds after that to figure out what he was so upset about.

Evidently, in all of our thrashing around, he had static charged every single hair on his head. Each strand stood at perfect attention, reaching out to his carseat in all directions. It was seriously stressing him out. It felt weird to him, I'm sure. I tried to comfort him and sweetly tell him that it wasn't wet, but to no avail - his mind was made up. Apparently, all hair that isn't fine and laying flat has been deemed 'wet.' I tried to show him how to 'rub his hair' so that it would de-charge and settle down, but then the little shocks on his hands freaked him out too. So, alas, we arrived at our destination a little less happy than when we departed for it, and my little porcupine and I have had to curb our car-dancing for the time-being. Oh bother. **bumps shoulder one last time**

P.S. Not sure what's wrong with blogger today...it won't let me move my photos around in the post. Please see photographic accompaniment at the top of the page...I will change this around when I can.

pure joy

Since he was 6 months old, Henry has only ever called me one thing - mama. A week after he turned 6 months, he called Jared 'dada'. When he turned 11 months old, he started calling Jared 'da-eeee'. But, like I said a second ago, me, I've always been mama. Until today, that is.

Today, I became 'mommy.'

Scratch that. Today, I became a teary-eyed, sentimental, wee-bit proud, more-in-love-than-ever-before, couldn't-believe-my-ears 'mommy.'

The 37th Week...soooo close.

Today, I am 37 weeks and 2 days pregnant with Baby J. If the tickers on the top and bottom of my page say otherwise, please ignore them...they're just tickers - they weren't there.

This is the week that we begin weekly appointments. The week that my doc will start checking for dilation at every appointment. This is the week that Jared and I will finish up all of our chores around the house. I will pack my hospital bag this week. He will install the carseat and base. This is the week that I will have someone snap a picture of Henry kissing my tummy. It is also the week that we will find drapes for our guest bedroom...not that any guests will be sleeping past sun-up in our house for the next year anyway! ha, ha. This is the week that very sad circumstances are taking my hubby out of town for 2 1/2 days...and also the week that I'm asking all of you to pray that the baby doesn't come while he is away.

This is the week that breathing became difficult...especially after eating. Also the week that I began to experience shooting sensations down my legs. I never had that with Henry...feels weird...almost like electric shocks. In the past week, I haven't slept very well, and my body is keeping me up for long stretches of time in the night. I love/hate the way our bodies know so well how to prepare. I'm snoring a lot. Like, an embarrassing lot. Sorry, Jared. I'm still wearing all of my jewelry (no swelling!), and I'm really hoping that I make it to the end without picking up a single stretch mark. So far, so good. My BP is perfect, I'm as hydrated as possible, and all indications are that Little Man will be staying put this week.

I am so full of anticipation, but I don't feel the least bit impatient. I'm so ready to meet him, but we really want him to be ready to meet us too. One more week? Two? Three?

Any of those are perfect with us, little J., because no matter which it is, it's just so close.

Color Funny

Jared: Where's purple?

Henry: Da kite (pointing to a purple kite on a page in a book).

Jared: That's right! Now, where's green?

Henry: Da tree (pointing to tree in same book).

Jared: Right! Where's red?

Henry: Da truck (again, pointing).

Jared: Good job, buddy! Where's blue?

Henry: **looking confused, at page, up at Jared, back at page, finally looks up and asks** Oh, nose???

Get it? Someone's had a runny nose all week, so he's been blowing it in tissues. After he does, we always make a big deal of his accomplishment and say, 'Oh, look, Hen BLEW his nose like such a big boy!'

Blue...blew. It's all the same to us, too, sweet boy.

I Hen

As you know, we're gearing up for baby around here. All of us are in on it. Daddy Pants does the heavy lifting, product assembly, and keeps me laughing through the late-third-trimester hormone roller coaster. Henry 'practices' (a word he can say beautifully, by the way) pushing the new stroller, rocking and burping his baby doll, putting the baby doll 'nigh-night', giving her hugs and kisses, putting her in her carseat next to his in the car, and holding up the miniature clothes we've been washing and proclaiming 'hooow cuuuuute' they are (no idea where he learned those words!). I've been washing, organizing, and trying to sleep as much as I can. With a little less than a month to go, I think we're right about where we should be.

So, anyway, this morning, Henry and I are playing in his playhouse and having fun throwing trucks down the slide. All of the sudden, he spies the new stroller across the room. Instead of saying 'walk' or 'practice,' like usual, he comes over to me and sits in my lap. He makes my arm bend so he can lay his head on it. Then, he looks up at me from the crook of my arm and says, "Baby...rock." I hop to, playing my part as requested. I rock him and sing "Rockabye Baby." He likes it...pretends to go to sleep and start snoring in my arms....quietly says "baby...nigh night."

Then I asked him, "awww, are you mommy's baby?"

He matter-of-factly replies, "No."

Me: "Ohhh, well, are you mommy's big boy?"

Him: "Mmm, No."

Me: (running out of options) "Well, then who are you?"

Big smile, pointing at his tummy like 1-year olds do..."I Hen."

Yes you are, sweet one. Not quite a baby, not quite a big boy...but definitely a Hen. My Hen.

Words fail...

The amount of in-love we are with this sweet boy is completely indescribeable. Happy 19-month birthday, little man.

name change...perhaps.

Don't say we didn't warn you.

When it comes to Baby #2's name, we're (read: I'm) indecisive. He's still Jameson (that's set in stone)...but he's likely going to have a family-name middle name when it's all said and done. What can I say? I like family names. I prefer them to any other kind of name, in fact.

And I'm mad at Brett Favre.

And, as a certain wise person has told me for my entire life, family is forever...remember that when picking your wedding party and your baby names. I like that advice. A lot.

Yep, I smell a name change on the horizon...

A much better weekend...

It's safe to say that this weekend was at least a thousand times better than last. First of all, Mimi was back in town. That makes all of us...especially the littlest one of us...very happy. Secondly, we got dressed up in cute clothes and had a date night. Here's a 35-week belly pic we took to commemorate the occasion. Sara, I don't want to hear any crap...I'm up every ounce of 35 pounds from my ppw and in no mood to debate. No, seriously, I'll cry. And, the Saints won the Super Bowl...my dad and Justin were celebrating in Miami while Henry repped the home team from Texas. Who dat?!?I'm hoping to post a little more frequently before Baby J arrives, but I am having a hard time coming up with things I want to write about...or I don't have the time/energy to devote to a gooood blog on a subject, so I just pass on it and wait for shorter/simpler inspiration.

the weekend and whatnot

So, here's what happened. Last Thursday night, while Jared was away on business, I stayed up most of the night listening to thunderstorms overhead. Henry, to my amazement, slept through the hours and hours of booming thunder and torrential downpour. In fact, he slept in until almost nine...which I loved. When I heard him start to sing and play in his bed Friday morning, I meandered upstairs to fetch my boy. Everything seemed normal until I hit the top step...

A smell. A very funny smell. Like an old milk bottle...or something. I figured it was my hormones bringing back a smell sensitivity, and I quietly tiptoed into the guest bathroom (where I keep the scale) to see what the damage was in that department. Ehhh, not too bad...but still, the smell. Out the bathroom door, a few steps towards Henry's room, stronger smell now, getting worse, open his door, positively rancid...turn on the light. Oh. my. God.

His entire bed was full of evidence of his meals from the day before. I'm not talking out the diaper either...I'm talking full-blown pukefest. Dried. Caked. How could I have not heard this happening?? Ugh...bad mommy, poor baby, 3 hour clean-up.

He acted normal for the entire rest of the day, though, so I chalked it all up to 'too much pizza for dinner.' On Friday, I kept him on the BRAT diet all day, and he seemed totally fine. 150%. Runnin' and gunnin'. Until about an hour after I put him down to sleep for that night. Heard him start to cry on the monitor, then he starts saying "Noooo, nooo, nooo!" I race up there to find, yet another, pukefest. Awesome. This time, Jared is here to help with the clean-up. Amen. We decided to let Henry sleep in our bed (which we NEVER do) since we felt so bad for him, and all of us were snoozing peacefully by midnight. Is it a stomach bug? Is his stomach just off? Hmmm...

Saturday morning started early. In his excitement to find that he was in our bed, little man was up at 6:30. "Mama...dadddy! Mammmamaaa!! Daddy! Bedddd!!!" It was so adorable. At 7, I got up to make him breakfast and get the day goin'. At 9, Jared woke up and joined us. At 10, I knew for certain we had a virus on our hands. How did I know? Well, the fact that all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch and not move or be touched or talked to was the first sign. Then, the tummy-ache. Then, my proclamation that I would be canceling the girls' night I had been planning to host at our house for over a month (for which I had already cooked and decorated!!). Jared thought I should wait a few hours to cancel...I told him that I knew the badness was forthcoming...he said go lay down and decide when I got up...so I did. Well, actually, the pukefest that ensued decided for me. By 11, it was bad. By 12, it was worse. By 3, I tried to take a sip of apple juice...no go. At 4, water. Nope. At 5, gatorade...fat chance.

At 6, my doctor called me. Evidently, some of my sweet family members and friends had tipped him off as to what was going on. You know, 7 hours of the ugly stuff. So, he asks when the last time I held anything down was...the night before. What about fluids...yeah, last night with dinner. How did I feel...horrible. Was I holding anything down now...not really.

Okay, well, I'm going to leave some orders up here at the hospital for you to be admitted for IV fluids, a few tests, AND overnight observation.

Seriously, the hospital? For a little throw-up?? I mean, come on...it's only been a few hours...surely I'm going to hold down this new gatorade I'm working on now!! **hiccup**

No ma'am. You have to go, he says. So, reluctantly, I went.

My tests showed bad numbers indicating serious dehydration. My resting heartrate was 135 indicating that my body was working overtime to make up for lost fluids/nutrients (I tried to blame this on the fact that I had to ride an elevator, walk to my room, and climb into a hospital bed...but doc wasn't buying it). My head hurt. The only good news about any of it was that sweet Baby J was just cool as a cucumber. His heartrate was perfect. His kick counts were great. And, although I did have a few (very minor, Braxton-Hicks) contractions during the first hour of being there, those stopped shortly after the first bag of fluid went in.

Then, I got a call at 10 from Jared to let me know that Henry had doused him from head to toe and they were both heading for the bathtub. Perfect. Did I mention that this was the one weekend since we moved to Texas that we had no family members around to call on. So, J was home with H...and my friend, G, took me to the hospital and stayed with me until I was about ready for bed. Anyway, I got two more bags of fluid through the night, held my breakfast down like a champ, and was discharged by 10:30.

I would love to tell you that this is where the story of our virus-plagued weekend ends, however, that just wouldn't quite paint the whole picture. You see, when Jared picked me up at the hospital, he said he was feeling bad too. You know where this is going, so I'll just leave it to your imagination to fill in those details. Thankfully, they don't involve anything as exciting as a trip to the hospital.

So, thirty hours after THAT, we exited the blur that was our weekend and took Henry to a hibachi grill for supper. Something about fried rice just sounded good to all of us...and we knew he'd love to see a smoking onion choo-choo. And we were right.

And, now, this house is cleeee-ah.