A too hot introspection

So my blood is boiling and it has nothing at all in the world to do with anger...I think it's directly related to the fact that my core body temperature is effectively double that of anyone who isn't pregnant. My boobs are bigger than my head, I don't even know what to think about the fact that I can't even picture pants that don't have elastic waists that go to my bra. Hell, today I can't even picture pants. Being that I still have a little while to go (81 days) I don't foresee my condition or mental state getting any better anytime soon, this leaves me feeling a little introspective.

It seems to me that things have changed a bit in the last couple of years without my knowledge or consent. I don't feel older. Mentally 25 doesn't seem very much removed from 24 or even 20, although I start to see definitive changes around that time, mostly tied to fact that I did a lot of mental changes between 18-20, which led to a lot of travel, a lot of relationship changes, and a lot of growing. Not growing up, just growing. In the nonce I have done a lot of changing that I didn't necessarily realize I was doing. The aging, the kids, marriage, my own mentality. I don't think that me 5 years ago would really know much about me now. I would still be me...just a different version.

I'm certain that those who haven't kept close to me in the intervening years wouldn't know me without clues. I still love some music, movies, inconsequential things like that. I would say though that my core beliefs are a little different, my perspective and opinions have changed substantially and I have been changed by my children and life. I'm not saying I look different or act too terribly different, but the way I am inside is different and it becomes blatantly clearer to me when I think about it.

As for life today, 5 years ago I never would have signed the consent taking away my ability to have children. Then again, five years ago I wasn't working on being a mom three times over. I wasn't prepared or learned in the challenges of raising a special needs kid or how overwhelming three will be. So it is safe to say that I am very much so done breeding, I have already signed up for the surgery to cut ties between my ovaries and uterus. I have three. Same dad, same husband, for better or worse. Definitely a different me.

28 weeks and counting down

Alexis Rose, here is your life: You are two and half pounds now. You are breech or transverse, always, without exception. It's like you know it doesn't matter because you are going to be a c-section baby anyway. You definitely have Mommy's attitude if that is indeed the case.

You love meal time. A lot. Food gets you going pretty good, especially cold foods. you don't care if it's sweet or savory as long as it is cold. Maybe you too sense that the weather is hot and outlandish, and maybe you think it's time to cool down, too.

You are petite in comparison with the boys at this stage of fetal development, Shaun and Shea both had you eclipsed in weight. Perhaps you will be my dainty darling. Probably not, though. I am not a dainty woman in any sense of the word and so I don't expect that you would be particularly fragile, either. You are joining a family of strong, intelligent women. We do not cower, we do not serve, and we certainly don't shy gracefully away from challenges. Given the choice between a dainty daughter or a powerhouse woman I'll take the powerhouse any day.

You are still violently kicking me in the pubic area, and it's getting harder to move around the world with you sticking out the front of me. But some days are better than others and occasionally I forget that I was ever anything but a woman anticipating her third child, like pregancy is my natural state. Which, by the way, is odd, because I find pregnancy to be disgusting on a normal basis.

We are still so very excited about the fact that you are a girl. Like at some point you won't be anymore, and we will have another son. I think because we had the boys first we are still very trepidacious about you being a female, a girl. Like it's not possible. Obvioulsy it is, you are, we think. But it's still a big deal.

Get off my crotch

Oh Lexi. Is this any way to start a meaningful relationship with your mother? You are supposed to be the darling of my family. My sweet and long awaited daughter. You are the one who will be carrying the mantle of femininity and a woman's struggle, she who will bear future progeny for our family, our continued existance!

And this is how you choose to start? By kicking me incessantly in the crotch? By bouncing on my bladder until I can take no more and pee on myself? My pubic bone feels like a kick ball wall and I find it harder and harder to relate to you every day. Pardon me for saying it, but I'm getting a little resentful of your consistant need to take advantage of the closeness of our relationship.

I also find this to be a little concerning: You are too needy. I feel like I am doing everything for you and with not an ounce of gratitude from you. How did you get so manipulative? Who taught you that if you pinch my kidneys I'll do whatever it is you want? You are still in utero, child! How many demands can you really have???

I'm going to give you one more trimester to straighten up or ship out. One of these days you are going to have breathe for yourself, speak for yourself, and process your own bodily waste for yourself. I can only hope you are ready for it, Alexis. Because ready or not, here you come! We'll finish this talk in a couple of months, when we can do so face to face. In the mean time find something else to kick, like my pancreas.

Ugh...the excitement (or indegestion)

My stomach is torn in two...roiling and burbling until I can hardly stand it. I'm all aflutter and wildly excited. Or hungry. Or you are wiggling...I don't know. Some things to consider, little bitty...

You DO NOT like strawberry fruit bars. But you don't mind strawberry ice cream.

You like chili cheese chips. I hate chili. This could be an issue for us.

You are not big on sweets, unlike your brothers. I don't have the desire to eat an entire bakery/chocolate factory/baskin robbins store's worth of sugar every day.

You like water a million times a day. You get all jumpy if I get the least bit thirsty and don't immediately quench that thirst.

You like to walk around and rock side to side. It always puts you to sleep.

You don't hiccup like Shea did.

You are not a night owl like Shaun.

You like red meat. A lot. I'm a little worried for our collective cholesterol and colon health.

I hope to find out what we are gonna call you on friday. Best of everything to us until then! Happy eating!

Little Bitty

You are quite a presence for someone who isn't even big enough to show your face yet. First of all, you are in the most painful headache I've ever had. No, seriously, with the pain in the head that makes me wish they would knock me out until such time as you are born. I have to tell you that if this is a sign of your personality, I'm a little scared. You will be much too much like Shaun in that case. I don't know that I can handle two Shaun type children.

Also, with the moving about. I'm gonna be blunt. It tickles. It's very hard to be a serious financial advisor when there is someone tickling me from the inside all the time, making me wiggle and giggle. My coworkers think I'm nuts and my friends think it's hilarious. You are already quite the little show stopper.

Your brothers are at war right now. Shaun thinks you should be a girl and runs around talking about his baby Cara, his baby sister. Shea is mad about the idea of a girl, and insists that you are Carson, a new baby brother. Your daddy says he doesn't produce girls and let the record show that you are the next in the great line of Dupree Boys. I hope you are a girl, but then again I am sorely outnumbered at home and thus am hoping for some back up. As your father says "They are boys, they eventually all end up on the dark side." Your father is a little eccentric.

We will hopefully find out at the end of this week for sure what type of child you are. I already know you are a busy bouncer though. Every week I change my IM status to reflect your growth. You have unwittingly become a huge part of everything in my life. You are kicking me as I write this, busy body, as if to reiterate your existance, your importance. I love you.

The first fire of the year

Here we go...the first really superb day of the year. The sun is out, the kids are excited, and my husband is out hunting for dinner.

Not in the traditional sense, mind you. We live downtown in a metropolitan city after all. No, he is hunting for the best briquets, the most powerful lighter fluid, the best funny apron. It is time for the first bbq of the season. This isn't such a big deal to me but to my husband, this is a rite of passage, a celebration, a milestone. THIS IS THE FIRST FIRE OF THE YEAR.

This is when he goes to the butcher shop and gets the biggest T-bone steaks he can find, regardless of the cost. I am drafted to potato salad and dessert duty. (ALWAYS a summer-y dessert. Think strawberry shortcake or fruit torte, that sort of thing.) Not in the mood for steak and blah blah blah? Tough, it is the first bbq of the season. Sigh.

There are hot dogs and potato chips of course, and usually corn on the cob...did I mention we are only a family of four? Or that my kids are only 3 and 4 years old??? This isn't the first time he's bbq'ed either. We have an electic indoor bbqer that he uses regularly. I've had chicken steak burgers...but those don't count. Neither does actual fire grilling in the snow or rain, which has also happened more than once since last the sun shined warmly in these parts.

I don't understand this little ritual. Why is it always the same expensive steak, the same hoopla, right down to the best premium beer selection to compliment the meat. It makes no sense to me. A dinner cooked is a dinner cooked...right? What is so enchanting about building a big fire and then waiting for it to burn down slow...I don't know. Maybe it's the danger of an open flame, the oversized tools and super thermal oven mitts. or the roiling smoke that takes them back to the cave. All I know is that today, for my husband, is a monumental day. It is the first of his summer adventures.

My mother in law is an Alien

I don't have proof. I'm working purely on circumstantial evidence here, but I am convinced my mother in law is an alien. Or possibly the antichrist, although that would make her human, which I'm not entirely sure that she is.

She has wierd alien habits, like ignoring the fact my children exist for years on end and then showing  up suddenly and showering them with candy and gifts. Then POOF! she's gone again. She also spends time surrupticiously rearranging random rooms of my house. Every time she's shown up one room or another gets redone, without explanation or consent. One year she moved every item in every cupboard to anther location in my kitchen. This year she rearranged my dresser and book cases. My dresser? Really??? Because I don't know the best way to arrange my unders in such a manner as to be both functional and artistic???

Also, she shows no genuine human emotion that isn't precipitated by vast quantities of hard liquor. Her happiness is manic at best and obviously contrived at it's very worst. her tears are loud and stage worthy, and she has no seeming fears or concerns. She cares not for other people, and is blatant in her disregard.

She has offered my husband a house, a divorce lawyer, a custody lawyer, a car, a motor home and 10,000 in cash to divorce me. These offers have come at various times in our 5 year tenure, the most elegantly evil being the day I brought my youngest son home from the hospital after my c-section. Did I mention he left me with the kids at home and he had my pain prescriptions? That was also her doing.

She is in town again, and i am leery to let her evil pervade my home. I'm morally obligated to let her see her son, and my children i suppose. After all, if she is an alien then my husband is an alien (I have proof of that, too, but I digress) and I manage to not only tolerate but to love and procreate with him. And by proxy and genetics my kids are at least part alien, so speaking as an ambassador from one species to the next I'm obligated to share. But I don't have to like it. Does anyone know of an effective alien deterrent?

@#%&* Telemarketers

We all hate them. With a passion. There is nothing more fun than hating these people. How dare they call me? How dare they try to sell me something? WHAT GIVES???? DON'T CALL HERE AGAIN!!!

Sigh. Like we want to call you. Like I want to hear your high pitched whiney kid answer the phone just to hear Mommy teach him how to call someone a bitch and hang up. Like I want to listen to your arthritic father repeat that he can't hear me, or better yet listen to YOU whine and cry about the fact that you got called.

You don't use the DNC (which, BTW, we ARE compliant with) you don't ask to be placed on an internal list, and more to the point you don't even know what I was calling you for. Yeah, it's obnoxious to see that 800 number on your caller ID, we get that. But honestly, it's not that hard to just say "Please place me on the do not call list". I won't argue with you, I won't fight, I'll politely tell you that's fine and hang up. I'll place your number on said list and move on.

Believe or not, there are people that want whatever is being sold. It's my job to sell them. No different than the receptionist wading through messages or the office worker going through paperwork or the nurse administering shots or whatever bad analogy you want. The point is, someone is always buying something. People pay for everything.

You pay for the doctor, the lawyer, the milk man, the mail, your magazines, books, hobbies and sports. Your food, phones, communications, conversations. There is no human interaction where something isn't being sold. You are selling your personality, your sex, your mind, your children, your potential, and your skills. Every time you open your mouth you are selling something, even if it is just an idea in an exchange of ideas.

What good does it do to hate me because I sell outright, in plain sight, every time the phone rings? Because you are so precious that I don't warrant a minute of your time? Are you that valuable? That's fine, who am I to question your sense of entitlement? But keep that in mind the next time you call in someplace because you have a problem. You expect someone to take the time to help you, to talk to you, to answer your call.

Guess what? I happen to be one those that is (un) fortunate enough to work both sides of that particular fence, and it's incredible to see the level that people stoop to. You don't have to like me, but realize that life is give and take. My life isn't defined by my profession. My life is defined by my children and husband and family and friends and life experiences. It doesn't hinge on whether or not you take my call, or whether or not I take yours. Your moment of God like glory when you slam the headset down  is nothing to me. And bearing that in mind, why should my call, if it isn't going to make a difference to you one way or the other, be anything to you?

Oh god. Another one.

Another one. Another kid, another mouth to feed, another set of diapers and teeth and smiles and scabby knees.

I've got two, boys, and they have adjusted to each other. They know their place in our family dynamic. They know when to be dominant or submissive, where the lines are drawn in thier relationship. I know that my oldest is the protector, my adventure, my some day wayward soul. He will venture to horizons that I will never see, and there won't be an ounce of trepidation. I know that my youngest is my homebody, my "momma's boy" my little love who will care for me and take care of me when I grow old and we switch places. I don't know about number three.

Who are you in there? What are you like, how do you feel about being the literal third wheel in this set? Do you know you are usurping the baby from his rightful throne? Do you know that you are another one for the Big Boy to take under his wing? How will they feel about you? Are you going to be a tag along little brother, forever chasing after the big boys? Will you be the fabled protected little sister, peeking from hehind their shadows?

And what kind of relationship will we have? I know I will love you unconditionally, that goes without saying. But will it be a stoic, quiet affection like I have with Shaun. or will it be exhuberant and silly like me and Shea? I just don't know. I'm excited, but there are so many questions.

There is something you should know about your mother. I am not good with variables. I read the end of books...I read movie spoilers before I to the show...I plan a month's worth of meals at a time. You are an unknown quantity. You scare me a little. I want to know you, but I have to be honest when I say that you are my little bit of uncertainty. I have very high hopes for you, little one.

Here we go!

Yet another place to share my expansive and never ending opinion. God help you. You should get to know me. I'm a 25 year old mother of 2 and 1/2 kids, married, and working more than full time. Lucky? Some days, especially in this economy. Lucky to have a pay check, to have a roof over my head, to have two boys that are potty trained and don't try to kill each other.

Other days...the boss is on my butt, the kids are Godless heathens and my husband couldn't find his own socks if his life depended on it. My hair doesn't behave my clothes don't fit and I wonder what the whole point of getting up is. You know how it is. To have "those days" when the only thing that sounds good is a tropical vaction where no-one knows your name and the cabana boys don't speak english. 

To know me isn't to necessarily love me, but it is a good chance to see a real perspective from a woman who isn't cosmo, but who also isn't always good housekeeping. I'm not always laid back, or fun, but I'm always honest. What more can you ask for?