Barftastic Addendum

Party #1 has notified me that the birthday girl has the pox. Let's see how well this new fancy varicella vaccine works.

Anyone want to place odds on both my charming darlings being covered by itchy red welts by the time I return from reunion this weekend?

According to G-ma the pox has a 10 incubation period. so that should land squarely on Daddy Day (also known as Wednesday to the uninformed) Won't that be fun for H?

Also, I like to say pox. say it with me "a pox on both your houses" see, it's fun.

Why Do These Things Always Happen to Me?

Subtitled: It's usually your fault

To make everyone laugh, I thought I'd relay a charming event that happened to us yesterday.

We (meaning I, Jeanne, mother and fool) to accept two birthday party invitations on the same day... in New Jersey. And not just New Jersey, but the first one was in Princeton. Where they were conveniently also holding commencement. Which the mother of the birthday girl failed to mention. She also failed to mention that she was serving 17 different types of baked goods.

I had to literally chase Z around the house and down the driveway, many, many times and change C's diaper twice (once after I had gotten her in the carseat) before heading to party number two.

The second party was thankfully on the way back home so we popped curious george in the portable DVD player and headed an hour and a half again (but at least it was north). Both girls sat transfixed by that naughty little monkey for the entire ride. As the credits rolled on georgie, we pulled down to the end of the cul-de-sac and Howie-started to park the car. He looked in his rear-view to check the distance and.....

wait for it......


Z barfed. Chocolate frosting spewed forth like a demonic fondue fountain.

I jumped out of the still moving vehicle and ripped open her door. Before i could get my now barf-soaked hands under the blanket she was holding to unbuckle her, she let loose again. and again. I managed to catch most of it with my hands and her blanket. I pulled her out of the car and quickly stripped her down to her socks and diaper. Then she started to cry.

But not because she had just vomited a willie-wonka-esque fountain. But because it had gotten on her blanket. Her very favorite, carry around the house, can't sleep without it, stick it up her nose whilst sucking her thumb blanket. She's essentially naked and screaming "Clean it off Mommy! Wipe off Blanket!" in my friend's driveway.

Did I mention we are three hours late to party #2 and now all the guests are leaving? Truly priceless.

Thankfully I have no shame and the mother of this birthday boy was my grad school roommate and therefore thought nothing of me tossing a vile vat of vomit into her washing machine. It's happened before. And I mean before kids.

And how was ms. Z after this debacle? She was the life of the party, running, playing and eating pretzels.

All I could think was, "thank god it was only one of them"

G.L.O.W.

Does this even need subtitles?

Yuletide Yakking

I think everyone is just about done with the Christmas Puke-a-thon. It began early Friday morning (the 19th for those of you playing the home edition) with C destroying her crib and friends and ended (we think) Friday evening (the 26th) with Z tossing her cookies into Grandma's overnight bag. Why did G-ma have an overnight bag? It seems no one was spared the virus, including poor uncle Fi. My mother had to come over and help us as H and I could barely stand up.

Yes, she who never throws up, not from pregnancy, sea-sickness, vomit inducing roller coasters, or 5 or so too many gin cocktails, yes, even I joined in the merriment.

I did so many loads of laundry and changed so many babies, it's a blur. Christmas day I slept on my mother's sofa. then Z barfed on the area rug. not on the hardwood floor, but on the 6x8 area rug. and into the coffee table drawers. She's good like that. Impeccable aim.

What about Sammy? Don't worry, he only has worms.

Please dear baby jesus, please let 2009 start off better than 2008 ended. We are running low on pepto and laundry soap.

VACATION!!!

We did it. We drove two toddlers 10+ hours to Virginia. And with only moderate help from our furry red friend and the portable DVD player. I'm not even sure I can type the name...


ELMO

without C running in the room and screaming at the TV. The ride was livable. Z took her two naps in the car with no complaint. C only took a morning nap and complained and chatted through the afternoon one. Once we stopped for dinner, I realized that she didn't sleep due to tragically wet pants. Bad mother. then she crashed after dinner for a half hour while Z watched a Baby Einstein DVD that's supposed to be sleep inducing. However, it has sheep. Sheep are apparently zombified monsters that scream BAAAAAAAAAA! Which is how Z imitates them. everytime one appears on screen. or in a book. or a stuffed animal. or the thought of a sheep.

We finally arrived at the timeshare resort around 10pm. They were watching E... for the 3rd time in a row and sucking thumbs madly, but not sleeping. I sent H in to register/get the key. He returned and told me I was lucky he went in. here's what followed:

J: why? stupid and southern?
H: handing me confirmation page I had written directions on the back of
J: why? what?
H: pointing to date on sheet which reads October 5, 2008
J: huh?
H: pointing to date on watch which reads 04
J: oh shit.

Yes, we arrived a day early for our reservation. Which was entirely my fault as I apparently can't read. and I drove everyone crazy friday night and saturday morning trying to get out the door. Luckily, southern hospitality (and the twin card) worked in our favor and they gave us a unit that had been vacated and cleaned earlier that day.

Do you think I have a few too many things on my mind? I am ever so slowly devolving into my poor mother who is on her umpteenth wallet and eleventybillionth set of keys.

more drinking = more peeing

anyone using cloth diapers have a suggestion on how to deal with the great pee-scapades that are going on here?

Now that the girls are drinking milk at 8oz clips before naps and bed, we are soaking everything. At night I'm using a prefold and 2 doublers with Stacinator deluxe fleece covers and that seems to be holding back the tide. But this is waaaay too much for during the day.

Daytime we are in prefolds with bummis super whisper wrap covers. Is there something better I could use at naptime since this is when the great pee-a-thon seems to be happening?

I'm using a diaper service and I really don't want to get into the whole all-in-one, wash your own diapers deal. I have enough on my plate keeping people fed and relatively clean.

Any feedback is sorely appreciated.

THANKS!!

argh

anyone have any bright ideas on how to deal with two babies who don't like to nap? I don't know where they get this from, I personally love to nap. I'll do it anywhere. not these two. Right now I have two seconds while C sleeps in the sling and Z makes eeking noises in the crib. I just stuffed 1/4 of a bbq chicken into my face, cold, using my hands as it's 4pm and all I've eaten today is a bowl of cereal.

help!

oh and if you really want a fun story, ask susan about tailgaiting at the police concert last night with me and felipe the breast pump. Nothing says "good times" like a woman pumping breast milk in a parking lot, except for maybe a woman pumping breast milk riding down the palisades parkway at 70 mph. Hot stuff I'm telling you.

feeding frenzy

no time to blog. must feed babies. babies eat every two hours. there are two of them. must feed babies. boobs may never speak to me again. when will babies stop eating every two hours? must feed babies.

BAH!

Really? No comments? I tell you people I'm trapped in my house and there are NO COMMENTS?!?!

I think I've been home too long. I'm starting to talk to the cat. OK, I always talked to the cat, but he looks like he's starting to understand. Not that he cares. He's still a cat.

Help me people. really.

My Fancy New Ankle Bracelet

In case you've all been wondering where I've been, I'll fill you in. I've been here. At home. I've been ordered to D/C working. That's what my doctor's note says. In reality, I'm under house arrest.

Here's the back story:

Tuesday morning I got out of bed and my left ankle was a little stiff and swollen. No biggie, I thought, I must've just slept on it funny. Actually I did sleep in sort of a weird tangled up position Monday night, but I was just happy I slept. So I took a shower and went to work.

Throughout the day on Tuesday, my crazy ankle continued to swell. Then I ran out of ankle so my foot started to swell. and my calf. Pretty much everything up to and including my knee. But only on the left side. Now, come on, who only swells up on one side of their body at a time? It absurd.

I sat all day with my feet up on an upside-down trash can (I know, can you stand the glamour?) but it continued to get worse. I finally called my OB around 12:30 and left a message that I had pretty ugly edema of just my left leg. At 3:30 they called me back and told me to come in. Except they close at 4:30. And I was in the Bronx with my feet up on a trash can. I made an appt for the next morning first thing.

Wednesday morning I woke up and my left leg was less swollen, but still stiff and I could barely get my foot into the most wide and comfy dansko clogs. I limped down the block with H and went to see the OB. I felt pretty stupid since my leg was no where near as hideous as it had been the day previous, but I went anyway. Mostly because my mom and H were threatening me.

While I sat on the exam table waiting for the doctor to come in and laugh at me, my oh, so cooperative lymphatic system decided to re-inflate my left leg. The doc came in, looked at my legs and told me I needed to come up with a "plan" for the rest of the pregnancy. Then H told him about my wierd stabby hot-poker chest pains. So I got an U/S for gall stones (which I don't have thankfully) and a script to "D/C working". I started to ask if that was really neccessary and the doctor actually told me I was being ridiculous. His actual words where "You cannot work over an hour away and be pregnant with twins. It's ridiculous"

So here I am, not being ridiculous, but trying to find things to do that can be accomplished while I keep my feet elevated for a majority of the day. To tell the truth, I'm pretty exhausted as it is, so the rest is somewhat welcome. Petey however, feels differently. He keeps looking at me like, "when the hell are you going to get out of my house?" He is a fan of me opening the front windows for him to glare at people on the street. Maybe we'll come to an understanding...

Anyway, so that's the news that fit to print. I am here. In my house. With my feet elevated. My big outing for today was to the pet store for Petey food and next door to the bagel shop for...furniture, duh, bagels. I got to drive the '94 Shadow that's filled with spiders and the driver's side door doesn't stay open. Wasn't that a pretty pictured. Now I'm back in the recliner trying to come up with a daily schedule so that I don't lose my mind as I slowly become one with the sofa. I just realized I'm wearing a beige sweater that blends nicely with the upholstery.

HELP!!!

Weak Fat Mouth Breathers

This morning I got up and decided to haul my sorry self upstairs to do some yoga. I took this prenatal yoga book out of the library in December and have so far used it 0 times and incurred $5 worth of overdue late fees when I forget to renew it. Anyway, so I got the yoga mat and a chair as recommended by the book and I plopped myself on the floor to get going.

I've always considered myself to be relatively strong and in decent shape. I don't exercise regularly, butI can still move my living room couch by myself. Actually, I might border on the freakishly strong. (sorry if my brother is reading this, he is laughing himself silly as he IS freakishly strong. it's genetic. my father once lifted a school bus. long story. but very true)

I've also been practicing yoga for probably about 7 or 8 years now pretty regularly. I like it. It has the fluidity of dance without the tights and crazy old french ladies who make you call them "Miss". Can anyone tell I took ballet class from age 4? Sometimes I'll be standing in my kitchen waiting for something to boil and realize I'm using the kitchen island as a barre and running through releve.

I'm reading through this book and thinking, "Gad! these are way too easy, how is this going to help me in anyway". Then I started to run the sequence. I can't do anything. I can't align anything properly and I can't hold the poses. My arms are weak and my posture is horrible. I actually started crying.

Two things can happen here. I can give up entirely and embrace my new being of gelatinous goo or I can try to do a little more everyday to regain some of my strength. I actually told my mother once that I didn't think she should be on a diet because moms were supposed to be fluffy. The fact that this woman hasn't murdered me is amazing, but does explain some of the tics. I have to somehow bridge the disconnect between who I am and what I think "mother" is supposed to be.

This is a long winded way of saying that I'm just not sure that I'm fit to be in charge of someone else's life. Let alone two lives. I can't even feed myself. Which brings on another rant...

WHAT C AN HAPPEN WHEN YOU KNOW TOO MUCH:

So I'm at 20 weeks which I happen to know is a big brain/nervous system developemental period. This is why synapses start firing. So, I should be eating all sorts of brain food. Fish and almonds and omega-3 cookies (oh, hmmm, maybe not so much of those) I am thinking of fighting Petey for his fish oil capsules. Am I eating these things? No. Of course not. The idea of consuming fish actually makes me puke a little in my mouth. and I LIKE fish. and it's lent. It's so easy to get. But the smell, the mere thought, is too much.

What am I eating? Here's yesterday's food tally:
Breakfast: (10:30am) 2 large bowls of frosted mini wheats
Lunch: (2:30pm) greek yogurt with fruit. but it was only a cup of yogurt.
Dinner: (5:30pm) Grilled cheese sandwhich and two spoonfulls of bean soup. Couldn't force the bean soup down so I ate ritz crackers with peanut butter instead. yum nutritious.
(10pm) H came home late so I made kung pao chicken and a salad in an attempt to eat again. I managed to force down 2 slices of avocado and a little lettuce from the salad but the smell of the chicken was a no-go.
Water consumption: 5 glasses.

Seriously? this is not enough food. but I'm just not hungry again and nothing appeals to me. I certainly wasn't going to grill myself a tilapia fillet and sprinkle it with almonds. I actually had a conversation with my own belly where I informed the twinlets that they were not going to be allowed to eat like this once they were outside. Then someone kicked me in the ribs.

And so, the title of this post is exactly what my poor children are destined to be if I don't do something to redeem this entire pregnancy and possibly my life.

genetic nerdiness makes me tired

and psychotic. I am writing up chart notes from yesterday and while consulting my trusty age-related risk table, I remember that I am having twins.

Therefore, the overall risk that at least one of them has some hideous chromosomal anomaly at birth is roughly 1/234.

This disturbs me. I had a negative first trimester screen which gives me a 5% false negative, however, is that additive due to the fact that they are twins? Should I be demanding my amnio? Do i really want to have a needle shoved into my abdomen not once, but twice and possibly give birth to the next members of the Blue Man Group?

This is why you should be able to drink in pregnancy. or take a sedative. or possibly sleep for 5 straight hours without waking up to pee. if you need me, I'll be hiding under my desk. with a pregnancy wheel, my handy dandy risk table and my copy of Smith's checking out dysmorphology's finest specimens. What I won't have is a bottle of Jack Daniels or multiple pairs of shoes to sit on. Otherwise you could shake your head and say "been there, done that"