Do you smell that? Part II

Where was I? Oh, yes. The shampoo.
At my early 30 something week ultrasound, it was found that I had too much amniotic fluid. My doctor told me I had polyhydramnios. A normal amniotic fluid index (AFI) is between 5cm and 25cm. That day my AFI measured 46cm. My doctor was a little concerned to say the least. Well, I, having no knowledge of polyhydramnios (or polly, as I like to call her), did what any freaked out pregnant mom would do. I came home and looked on the internet. If you are to ever take anything from this little blog hobby that I do, please let it be this. NO MATTER WHAT THE CIRCUMSTANCES, NO MATTER HOW FREAKED OUT YOU ARE, NO MATTER HOW MUCH OF A KNOWLEDGE-HUNGRY-GOTTA-KNOW-SOMETHING-ANYTHING-TO-HELP-ME-COPE -WITH-THIS-UNBELIEVABLE-NEWS-ABOUT-THE-HEALTH-OF-MY-BABY MANIAC YOU ARE - DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT - GO ON THE LOVELY WORLD WIDE WEB TO RESEARCH MEDICAL THINGS. You will always find the worst , most horrible information on there. Every.Single.Time.
Ok - I’ll move on. I was sent to a specialist and had a few high-resolution ultrasounds. She was looking to see if the cause of my polly was baby-related. 65% of the cases are not. Pretty good odds, right? I even got to take home pictures of little Tot from a 4-D ultrasound. One of the fun things about polly, though, is that she can cause you to go into preterm labor. Preterm labor with too much amniotic fluid is not a good combination. Doctors are scared that you could encounter placental abruption (not good), that your cord could prolapse (double not good), and that you could hemmhorage (probably not good either). So, when it was found during a non-stress test at my regular OB’s office that I was indeed in active labor at 33 ½ weeks, I was admitted to the hospital that afternoon, and we all pretty much thought that I was going to have a little Tot quite soon. I was given magnesium sulfate to help slow down my labor so that the steroid shots in my hips would have enough time to help mature Tot’s lungs.
On a side note, magnesium sulfate was one of the most horrible things that I have ever endured. And I’ve had brain surgery, and have been paralyzed and on life support, folks. I’m not inexperienced when it comes to bad things happening to a person. I ain’t gotsta lie.
Anyhoo, the magnesium sulfate did indeed work, and my doctor decided it was best to transfer me to the nearby hospital where my specialist practiced. There was not a NICU in my local hospital, and they wanted to be as prepared as possible. Well, I loved this doctor. She was very matter of fact, very down to earth, great bedside manner, funny, and altogether just a great lady. Her intentions were to have little Tot stay inside my belly as long as possible. So on hospital bed rest I spent the next almost 2 weeks. And I am not a very patient person. I do not like to have to stay in one place for long periods of time. (Being paralyzed for a month a 15 can do that to you.) So, my lovely nurse told me that after the foley catheter was removed, which she was going to do, I would need to use a bed pan if I need to “go.” Well, you see, I don’t do bedpans. I don’t “go” in my bed. Just won’t do it. So, I pitched a fit. I wouldn’t let them take out the catheter until I could speak to my doctor. Who I loved. Seeing as though I was quite adamant about not “going” in my bed, she gave me bathroom privileges. This may not seem like a big deal to most, but to me, is SO was.
Shampoo, shampoo, I hear you chanting. I hear you, and I’m getting there. With bathroom privileges comes shower privileges, seeing as though the potty and the shower are both in that same room. Well, when I went to the doctor for a simple non stress test, I didn’t quite expect to spend 2 or so weeks in the hospital. So, on various trips back and forth from home to the hospital, different family members had brought me different necessary items. One of those items was the shampoo from my mom. I was allowed to wash my hair. So when I smell this shampoo now, I am first taken back to that hospital shower where I think of how scared and alone I was. And huge. Did I mention how huge I was? I think of all of the thoughts that go through my head as to what mine and Tater’s future holds. Will she be okay? Will she live? Will I be okay? Is Tater okay? My husband? My parents and in-laws who have in an instant become full-time parents to a 13 month old? I prayed, I bargained, I begged, I pleaded, I cried, and if I thought that the bathroom wouldn’t immediately be filled with panicked nurses, I would have screamed.
To Be Continued…

I've been tagged...

Well, I have to say that Amy over at Chicken and Cheese just happens to be one of my favorite mama bloggers in the whole world! She was the first to Blogroll me, taught me how to put links in a post (which I find incredibly fun), then the first to actually link me in a post, and now she is the first to meme me. So a toast to Amy - my blog mentor - and a fabulous writer! Please go check her out.

Now, on to the meme...

I AM: a very active blog lurker.

I WANT: more children.

I HATE: that I don't have as many comments as other blog mamas.

I MISS: the part of my brain, even though it was only a little bit, that they removed back in '94.

I FEAR: worms. Anything that can move without legs, wings, or fins just ain't right.

I HEAR: my girls laughing and playing upstairs while they should be sleeping.

I WONDER: I wa-wa-wa-wa-wonder. Why, why-why-why-why-why she ran away. And I wonder, where she will stay-ay-ay. My little runaway. My run-run-run-run-runaway. (you're welcome, dad.)

I REGRET: having to sing that song out loud to make sure I didn't leave out any of the wa-wa's or run-run's.

I AM NOT: therefore I am.

I DANCE: when the Jell-O commercial comes on with the little boy and the cow. I think that it's very funny.

I SING: CONSTANTLY! (although I'm not very good at it.)

I CRY: more often than I should.

I AM NOT ALWAYS: the best housekeeper in the world.

I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: dishcloths with knitting needles. And noise when I clap.

I WRITE: lists. Because I don't feel as though I can function without them!

I CONFUSE: my husband alot. him -"What's wrong?" me -"Nothing." him- "Are you sure?" me- "Yes, I'm fine." him- "Ok then, I'll leave you alone." me- "It's just that I'm upset over..." Hmmm, I see how that could be confusing.

I NEED: a maid. And a laundry service.

I SHOULD: be packing for our trip this weekend instead of sitting here blogging.

I START: Christmas shopping the day after Thanksgiving.

I FINISH: eating much faster than my daddy. But then again, everyone finishes eating much faster than my daddy.

What fun, what fun! The rules of the game are that you must tag someone else when finished - and then let me know when you finish yours. In honor of my two newest blogline friends & relatives...I tag the Queen Bee at queen b's solace and va mommy at Peanut, Butter, and Jelly. The queen of all of the B's is my bff since we were like four, and the bread that holds the sandwich together at PB&J is my sister-in-law. Check them out! And let them know you stopped by!

We will be out of town this weekend, and as stated above, I have yet to pack, so the second part to the smelly post from yesterday will probably be delyed until next week. So sorry to once again dissapoint my devoted fans! Bwahahaha!!

Do you smell that? Part I

There is nothing like the sound of your husband saying “I do” at the alter or your baby’s first attempt at “mama.” Nothing could replace seeing the 10 tiny fingers and 10 tiny toes of your children for the first time. There is nothing more delicious than wedding cake being stuffed into your mouth or the taste of sticky mashed banana kisses. And what could possibly feel better than you husband’s hands on the kicks of a pregnant belly or the softness of your newborn baby’s silky tuft of hair? I don’t know if anything could replace these experiences. The feelings that resurface when a irreplaceable memory is brought to the forefront of your mind is indescribable.


But, for me, it’s the nose that knows.


You know what I mean. Maybe it’s the smell of spring rain that takes you back to being a worn out kid in your front yard. Or perhaps the smell of bus exhaust immediately takes you back to those elementary school field trips of community plays and Happy Meals. When it comes to me and my nose, I could go on for hours. There are so many smells that evoke such poignant memories that I feel that if I could bottle them up, I would be able to tell my life’s story. Line all of the containers in a row across the counter, from day 1 of year 1 to day 1 of year 28 - oh the tales I would tell.
A whiff of Rave hairspray takes me back to my bedroom as a sixth grade girl getting ready for my first middle school dance. Oh, the teasing and the feathering and the scrunching and the curling. And the amount of hair spray in the little room was enough to choke a horse. The purple eye shadow - or was it blue - smeared from lash to brow. The boys, I’m sure, were quite impressed.
If ever I am knocked unconscious for some odd reason, don’t worry with hunting down any smelling salts. No, grab a stick of the Dove original scent deodorant, and I’ll be up in no time. Because you see, every time I get even the slightest hint of that smell drifting my way, I’m in Disney World on my honeymoon in an instant. It’s unbelievable. There we are planning our day wondering if Magic Kingdom or Epcot will be a better choice. And honey, do we really need another Mickey Mouse shaped ice cream bar? Yeah, you’re right, we only have one honeymoon.
But then there is that shampoo. ..
A few weeks ago, my mom gave me a bottle of shampoo that she decided she wasn’t going to use. I opened the bottle and breathed in the sweet smell. Now for most people, that would have been a small second in 1 of the 24 hours of the day. But not for me. Because when the smell of that shampoo entered my nostrils, it tickled my memory and swept me back almost two years ago to the hospital room where I spent the almost 2 weeks leading up to Tot’s birth. And the next month held for me the most unbelievable adventure I have ever endured.
To Be Continued...

Slacker.

To all of my adoring fans (yeah, right),
I know that you all are so dissapointed that I haven't posted one of my quick witted, yet emotionally gripping posts in a few days (yeah, right). So since you all are worried sick about me and my family (yeah, right), I thought I would just post a quick note letting you know that all is well, and you can sleep easier tonight (yeah, right). I have had a busy/lazy few days and just have not been inspired with one of my usual great stories (yeah, right). I have had many e-mails and phone calls demanding something, anything, to quench the thirst of my loyal fans (yeah, right). I will resume my duties soon, so please do not feel like you have to go to drastic measures (yeah, right) to ensure my return .
Thanks again for your concern (yeah, right).

Happy Birthday to Me!

Yes, today is my birthday (for at least 19 more minutes, anyway) and I got the best present from my Tater and my Tot...







...MY DOWNSTAIRS BATHROOM!! Just what I've always wanted!
And they even wrapped it themselves!

Thanks girls, this is the best Birthday Potty I've ever had!
Love,
Your old Mommy

Time Flies.

Well, tomorrow is the big day. My Tater is turning 3. Do you remember when you were a little kid, and it took three forevers for your birthday to come? How it seemed like no matter how hard you tried or how early you went to bed each night, tomorrow just never came quickly enough? I do. I remember how I just couldn’t wait for the expiration date on the milk jug to be a day or two after my birthdate. That meant that the time was drawing near. Slowly, but near.
Well, I have discovered that those days are completely and totally over. Gone. Done away with. Vanished. Disappeared. Because nowadays, it seems as though there are only two blinks between this birthday and the last.
It seems like just yesterday that I found out there was even a little root of a Tater in my tummy. My husband and I were on vacation. I took two tests. Or was it three? I called my parents at around 1:00 in the morning and asked them to “guess what?” I remember that first ultrasound where I saw a lima bean and a beating heart. And I cried. At twenty weeks when we knew that the “baby” was now a “baby girl.” I’ll never forget the Saturday morning induction when I knew I didn’t want to be pregnant any more, but wasn’t really sure that I was ready to have a baby. The next day was my birthday and mother’s day. And I didn’t really feel like I should celebrate either.
I think about that first week home and a spit up of blood, and my stomach still clenches in knots. Thank goodness my mama was here. If I didn’t have her to talk me down, I very well could have contemplated sending that Tater baby back. Oh, the trials and tribulations of breastfeeding.
It seems like only last week that I was just getting comfortable taking care of one baby, when I realized that I was going to have another. Tears still well up in my eyes when I think of the month that I was away from Tater while in the hospital with Tot. Tater needed me so much, but Tot needed me more. And I needed them both. Those same tears spill when I remember my much needed hospital visits from Tater and the sobs that would erupt from my throat when they were over. I had two babies and couldn’t take care of either. Then when I finally could take care of both, I felt as though I didn’t know either of them. A month is a long time for a mother of two who is without her two children.
I remember the second birthday party and a very excited Tater who got to dance to her favorite Wiggles songs. Two healthy babies made me want to dance, too. I think about the vacation to the beach and how excited we all were to put on our “baby” suits. Christmas trees and lights, presents and paper, carols and giggles. It came and went entirely too fast. It seems like as soon as we started hauling them up, it was time to pack up the decorations and take them back down. “It’s EASTER SUNDAY!” on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. As long as we can have chocolate candy eggs for desert, it’s Easter Sunday.
And today. Today is the eve of your third birthday . Tomorrow will come and go as fast as all of the other days of the past three years. We will have spaghetti and cupcakes, and you will be excited to give me three-year-old kisses instead of two. We will spend the day talking about all of the three year old stuff you can do, giggling about your butterfly birthday party on Saturday, going over for the fiftieth time who all will be coming to celebrate, and trying to teach your little sister the happy birthday song.
And then I will blink. And 365 more days will have gone by. I will wonder where the time went, be thankful that we had it, and cry for it to come back. Not because I don’t want you to grow, but because I will want to take back all of the moments that I regretfully let slip away.
But for tonight, you are my favorite two year old in the whole world. And tomorrow, that will change. For tomorrow, you will be my favorite three year old in the whole world, standing alongside my favorite one year old in the whole world and I will be the luckiest mom alive.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Well, it started out as any other day. We got up, had breakfast, and got dressed. For you see, today we have some errands to run. A trip by the church to drop something off, a stop at the bank, and a quick run to the Wal-Mart. Everything is going fine. I wish that it had occured to me that it was going to be THAT kind of morning. I brushed my teeth, pulled up my hair, gathered the girls' things and started to put on shoes. First, Tater found her sandals and put them on all by herself. Wait to go, big girl. Then, after much protest, Tot's sandals slid on without a hitch. I got my keys, my sunglasses, and was ready to head out the door. All I have left to do is slip my brand-new-New-Balance-slip-on-wanted-more-than-anything-and-had-to-search-3-states-to-find-my-size-and-finally-bought-at-a-6-hours-away-store-that-I-just-happened-to-see-on-our-way-out-of-town tennis shoes. I looked, and I looked, and I looked. I enlisted the help of Tater and Tot to help mommy look for her shoes. I searched high and I searched low. I tore through my closet, the girls' toy boxes in the toy room, the oven, under my bed, under thier beds, in the showers, under the couch cushions, and on the front porch. No luck.
Bet you'll never guess where they were. (At this point you should, if you haven't already, read yesterday's post.)

Yep - you guessed it.

She had thrown them away.

Now, I bet you're thinking - "How cute and funny and it ties in to yesterday's post. The little almost two year old is going through the throw everything in the kitchen trash can phase. What a simple little prank - it could be worse!"

It was.

My tennis shoes weren't in the kitchen trash can. You see, during the frantic turn the house upside down looking for them rant, I actually looked in the kitchen trash. But, no tennis shoes. It was after I had completed this raid that lasted a good twenty minutes, I had this slightest glimmer of a thought. "No, it can't be", I told myself. I went back and looked at the kitchen trash can and , lo and behold, it was relatively empty. Which meant only one thing. My husband had taken the trash out yesterday. I remember him doing it when he was helping me carry the girls in from our outing. Our trash goes into a big-trash-can-on-wheels that is picked up by one of those huge trucks with the arm that comes out and dumps it. On Tuesday. TUESDAY!

It is then that my inner super-hero "can't let anything happen to the shoes" self comes out. I run in leaps and bounds to the curb where the trash can waits. I pray and silent prayer that the big truck hasn't made it yet. I breathe a sigh of releif and a thankful prayer when I am welcomed by that beautiful smell of rotten food, cut grass, and poopy diapers. But I do not delay. I dig right in . My huband and I mowed the yard last night and dumped the bag into the trash can, so that was the first layer to dig through. Then I spotted the old pizza box that he had thrown away with yesterday's trash. I new I was getting close. I scooted around to the other side of the trash can and pulled the first bag out that I saw. I saw a milk jug and a juice jug that I recognized as the latest flavor of the week. Ah, this had to be the one. At this point I was covered in grass and gagging from the stench. But I hastened to see what this bag may behold. I ran my hands around the outside of the bag trying to feel something familiar. Let's see, a diaper, no two diapers, a macaroni and cheese box, paper towels...and then it happened. My hurried fingers landed right on the heel of one of my favorite shoes. There they were, in the midst of poop and milk and ketchup covered paper plates, were my all time favorite shoes. I tore open the bag, which by the way ,somehow smelled worse than the entire trash can, and removed two gray slip on New Balance with the baby blue N. Oh yes, I'll be wearing them to Wal-Mart. I don't care how stinky they are. They are my favorite shoes.

So this is what that whole "one man's trash" thing is all about. Who new?

Do you actually WATCH that trash?

Yes, I most certainly do. I have to. I don't have a choice. I know it's dirty, but I just can't find a way around it. Every time I turn around there is something new to see. And then I think it's all over, but I have to look just one more time. I can't stop. No matter how hard I try. I mean, just last night I saw two brand new pair of denim capris. This morning it was a really cute one piece outfit. Then this afternoon, it was the remaining stack of size 4 diapers. And tonight, well tonight, it was the cordless phone. So you see, this is a serious problem that I have on my hands. I can't just let Tot throw anything that she wants into our kitchen garbage can. I have to keep a close eye on these things, or I'll never know what we are missing.

What did you think I was talking about?

What is the strangest item that you have ever found in your trash can?