Today, I Cheat

(Mom, this is that slow, sly smile, I mentioned...)


According to my books, ideally you aren't supposed to intro a kid to tv until he's three. However, I am today combining Josh's exercise time, when he's in his winnie the pooh kick swing (you've seen it in previous posts), with a little classical. Today, we are watching Fantasia. Josh is a FINE conductor. He puts his whole body into it, back arched, arms spread wide, little lips pursed out making him look like a baby orangutang. Not a clue as to what he's doing, mind you, but he's amused.

I have also discovered a fine thing. Wendy's carries playskool toys in their kids' meals -- if you ask for them. Two kid's meals equal a tough little baby friendly truck and a chunky little weeble hippopotomus. Love it!!!

At any rate, I cheated today...Josh was doing that "I'm asleep, I'm awake, I'm asleep --hah! Fooled you!" routine. So I wore the little guy out. We played parachute with a pink satin nightshirt, he'd get all squirmy and excited as the cool satin fell down around him, and then more excited as it "blew" up in the air again. We played kick the bell string (exactly what you think it is, a string of bells), and he loves that. He was on his stomach a bit -- he still hates it, but when he has everyone in the world hauling him around, the books say his crawling development will be noticably delayed. On his back, he has learned to scoot off of the edge of the fuzzy Care Bear Blanket, and to scoot around in circles. But yes, I deliberately wore him out. Then I compounded the cheating by turning the television to one of the "screen saver" music channels -- in this case, all New Age and Relax-y (Audio Visions, for those of you w/ Direct Tv), and let the audio sominex work its magic. Conked his little butt completely out!!! I even got a two hour nap too. Well, I'm up now, blogging like the wind, and then beating a quick path through the dishes and laundry...it just hasn't been happening lately -- that whole cleaning thing. When he awakes, we'll test out the new wheels. Oh, yes, the baby fairy dropped a stroller in our lap, and just when we needed it most (Josh is no longer lightweight!). I stopped by to hassle the gals from work the other day, and one of them had bought a bunch of strollers on clearance for the New/Expecting moms. This stroller was 60 bucks initially, but because of inventory, and new modulars, a whole bunch of older models got clearanced to ludicrous prices (we checked, it's now coming up in the system at 1 dollar-- what a hoot!!!) Anyhow, I was scouting for a fold-up, and she said, "No. Here." And gave me a sturdy little stroller that should last him until he's three. HOW COOL IS THAT?!!!! All hail the baby fairy.

Again, I can only agree that God must have some hellacious plans for this little boy... anything that he really needs seems to just show up right when we need it, and again, I have heard of no other new parent types that have this many wonderful people looking out for them. It boggles the mind. I am boggled.

Ok, I'm always boggled. But that's not necessarily a bad thing. More news when I have some.

Like, OMaGawd!!!

I am amused. As of today, the Cult of Joshua has now extended into the frozen North-east, and the not-nearly frozen enough West Coast (You know, if you were really our friends, you'd be taking a few more of these cold fronts off our hands :P ). Hello, Chelsea in Maine!!! Hello, Mike and Eden in Cali!!! Thanks for checking in. Actually, big ol' hugs all around -- To Suz and those wild Kehoe gals in Indy, to Den (who's taste in care packages is simply "wunnerful" --THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!), To the Denizens of O-HI (Mom and the COSHO Ya-Ya's, Norma, Kathy, Joe, Eric, and all of the rest), and those silly people in Missouri -- Care, you truly are a life saver...you've kept me focused when falling apart was so much simpler. If Jon and Josh and I have made it this far, it's due in large, enormous, gargantuan part to your love and support, and we just wanted you to know how much we appreciate all of you. I don't know of any other newly-parented folk with this kind of amazing and unheard of safety net.

******
I started writing this post at a quarter 'til five this morning -- Josh was up at 3:45, and we both woke up at the same time. I was able to get him fed and changed without so much as a single fussy cry. Yay, Me!!!

I do not know if it's Josh's backstory, or it this is the natural reaction of any group of people around a new, little one -- but I am noticing that an awful lot of people are taking credit for for our son...It's pretty darned funny, actually. I'm not saying that you guys can't preen a bit on his behalf (with all the help you've given us, you earned that right)...it's other folks...for example:

Rob, the pharmacist at work, came up to us the other day, patted Josh on the head and
said, "There's my baby." To which I had to reply, "Ah, so you're the one responsible for his hair."
Rob touched his hair, smiled wryly and said, "Yeah, he's got a receeding hairline, too."
"No, Rob." I laughed. "I was talking about the color." We are still trying to figure out where that red hair came from (Jon still blames the milk man -- but we don't HAVE a milk man), although with each bath, it does seem to be going blond.



Like any baby, Josh draws draws a crowd...but in his case, I'm not wholly convinced it's due to his baby-ness, and not due to the fact that (as I have often felt) his story has proceeded him, and he's sort of a Ripley's exhibit -- the Mascot Baby of the Weird, you might say. I think that many fully expect Josh to be sprouting antennae after an entrance like that (WHAT A SHOWMAN!!! For his next trick, Joshua Chamberlain will drive his parents completely crazy -- Oh, yeah, too late). Or maybe, he should just sprout antennae because Jon and I are his parents. On one of my first visits to Wallyworld after his birth --the day before Josh left the hospital, I made the near-fatal mistake of not bringing the brand-new newborn in with me. To the inevitable question, "WHERE'S THE BABY?!!!!" I would reply that once he realized who his parents were, he had committed himself to the Fourth Floor of Bethesda . Many people have rolled their eyes at us since this whole parenting process began and many people have permanently sprained themselves in the process. (For example, I was asked just yesterday how Jon and I were adapting to the parenting-thingy. I of course responded that we now viewed Joshua as a funny-looking cat, and that we intended to teach him to use the litter box, and that we'd leave a bowl of cream out for him from time to time. Instant eye-sprain.)

And it doesn't just stop on the outside. Witness Exhibit A:
This picture looks innocent enough. OR IS IT?!!! By rights, there should be bullet time and lightening effects, and Hanza swords in this shot. The Great-Great Aunt vs. the Great-Great Grandma...two sisters...normally sweet tempered little bird women who between them MAYBE weigh-in at 90 lbs. And yet, it's hard to tell which of these two are the more possessive of Josh, and their time with him. There is no doubt in my mind that both of them adore Josh within an inch of his life. My only question is...do they adore him within an inch of each others'? I direct your attention to the look of triumph on Irene's face (right) and the GLARE OF DEATH coming from the direction of the left side of the couch. Glare of Death, I kid you not. Not only does each refer to Josh as "My Boy" (meaning "Their Boy"), but Irene is actually encouraging Josh to punch and pound upon his poor, innocent father -- perhaps in the hopes of eliminating a middle man.

But I am Mommy...and Josh was my toy first. This parenting experience has been a fascinating experiment in sharing...either that or a feeding frenzy on the Discovery Channel's Shark Week *Wink*
I confess to a deep curiousity to just put all of them in a steel cage match...and see who would come out on top. Personally, my current bet's on the G.G. Aunt. Helen, who will work the prim and proper angle to the hilt, but I think she could give Chuck Norris a run for his chaps if he got between her and our little alien baby. *Smile* Of course, now I am picturing all of them in wrestling outfits. I know, I should stop this tangent...(because now all of you have these pictures in your head, too) but I can't help it. I know that the attention isn't directed at me, and that I am merely the person who happens to bring Josh to the party, and that the party starts when Josh gets there. I hope those of you mentioned in this post aren't unhappy with my conjectures, but I just can't help but to be vastly amused by the whole thing. I have truly never seen so many adult-type people get so silly and frothy before. As long as I can watch in utter fascination from the sidelines, I find the whole thing incredibly
...comforting. (Josh and I -->)



Jon and I had many reasons for not planning on children. One of the biggest was that we had seen so many other little ones come into this world, and just be utterly forgotten or neglected by those people who were SUPPOSED to be looking out for them. We weren't ready for this, you know that -- but we very much want to do the right thing here. What is so absolutely wonderful is that every one of you -- and everyone else who has heard about Josh -- began adoring Josh from the first, without question. It was vastly reassuring to us, and gave us a little bit of a cushion, as we began to learn to love him too. We have a lot of questions. We have a lot of uncertainty. Yet, because of your faith in us, and your constant concern for him, ALL of you kind of "spotted us some points" in this parent-thing...you gave Jon and I a chance to catch our breath and see what would happen next. Mom's always taught me that angels show up when you need them most...I just never expected so many at once. I truly hope that all of you know exactly what you have contributed to our lives...to Josh's life.

There are so many times that we still feel so overwhelmed by Josh, and everything he represents in our lives. For now, we are starting to get the hang of it...for tomorrow, we'll see. Again, you have our deepest thanks...

Harsh!

On Valentine's Day, Josh got his first batch of shots. The good news is that four immunizations were combined in two shots. The bad news is that I had to hold Josh, and then hold firmly onto leg one, then leg two as the nurse had to stab him straight into the muscle. He was watching me the whole time.His eyes locked with mine each time,and the betrayal in them is eating away at me. I was an accomplice in the hurting of my son. He was so good -- his eyes got big, and he whimpered a little bit each time, but we had doped him with baby tylenlol before we went in, and I nursed him when we got home, but he was actually almost alseep before we left the office. I was probably crying and fussing much more than he was. The office was frightening all by itself...the doc that we go to won't give immunizations, so you have to go to the health department. The nurses were very sweet, and very tired, but the office put the fear of God into me, it felt like a very clean version of a chamber of horrors. Yellow lighting, graphic pictures of chickenpox gone wrong, and the worst part was actually another parent, who -- for whatever reason -- had not kept up on her kid's shots for at least three years...I think the little girl -- this beautiful, fragile, dark-eyed pixie thing -- (who looked about four or so) had to get seven shots...no doubles. And she's old enough to remember. They had to get her before Josh, and while they took her into another room, you could hear her. When I related this to Jon, He just wanted to find that woman and dismantle her. He sees enough of that daily at his social security office (just because he isn't certain about this parenthood gig, it doesn't mean he isn't responsible), and feels it's tantamount to letting an elephant tap dance in a mine field.

*Sigh*
Ok, onto other things.

At least Josh came through the first batch with no trouble...no fever and only a little achiness in his legs. Now, he has been sleeping a bit more this week, but Mom said he was due for another growth spurt, and maybe that is the cause...Eat and sleep, coo and smile -- Yes, my boy has a smile...and he's starting to try to have conversations with everyone...well, I don't speak "Baby Dove" yet, but it sounds cute. I can't wait to hear what his first laugh and giggle sounds like. Sometime down the road, when my bank account looks less like a whipped dog, I'm hoping to get those little "record your own message" boxes from Build-A-Bear, and I'm going to have all of the family members do one, with the intention of putting all of the voices in one bear down the road. For the time being, I've dug out my little micro-recorder, and I'm recording the cooing of the Boy Wonderful... ( :P. I'm parental, now. I can be goofy if I want to -- it's part of the contract.) Every day, he gets stronger and more together. He can hold his head steady now, and today, he learned to lock his knees and stand for a moment. I am fascinated by how quickly he seems to get the hang of things. Of course, since I never paid much attention to the development of the other small alien beings known as "children", I don't know if he's ahead of the game, right on target, or whatever. He just seems to improve each day, and it's always something new...

I am debating seriously as to whether or not I should go back to work...we aren't making any decisions until we see where we are around April. I miss the social aspect of work, I've always loved chatting up my customers, and I certainly loved getting a paycheck, but I'm not entirely certain that I miss the rest of it. I mean, I can still get carpal tunnel holding a baby (and in fact it's gotten worse since Josh came into play), my back still feels ouchy at the end of the day... but if Josh doesn't like what I'm doing, I can just put him down for a nap... customers whine so much if you try to do that to them (especially when you offer them a complementary 2 X 4 to speed the process). The last few weeks have gone so quickly, some days are over in a blink. I'm still trying to "follow Josh's lead" as far as what we do each day...the books say when he's squirmy and alert that it's time for physical stuff, and when he's quiet and alert, I should read to him...I don't have a problem with the first, but oddly enough (I say odd, because I EAT books -- or used to before he was born), I've not quite gotten comfy with the reading to him routine.

****
Today is the twenty-second. Josh is going through another growth spurt and his cries are louder and stronger -- I swear, he let loose a scream the other night for a feeding that nearly ripped the paint off the wall...and he gets himself worn out, but won't go to sleep --- he yanks his hair, it makes him yell louder... I am so tired I hurt. There are times that I absolutely adore him...and times that I find myself thinking thoughts that are anything but maternal. when I want to cry as much as he does, when I revert back to thinking that this is a perverse joke that I just want to be over. On days like this, I feel less like a real person...and more like I'm just a vending machine. *Sigh* Sometimes, this mom-thing is absolutely unreal and amazing -- like when I'm holding him close and he's just smiling this sly smile up at me... then there are times when I feel like the person I am is fading out, that I don't really exist any more. I find myself envying my mom, who first and foremost defines herself as a MOTHER, before she defines herself as anything else. It's her core strength, I think -- and that infuses everything else in her life. She keeps telling me she isn't perfect, and has made mistakes in her life, but it doesn't change the fact that being a Mom is what she's most proud of...we've always had the fond impression that she points to the five of us, and thinks "Look at them....Look what I had a hand in here!!!..." We've never doubted once that we were her joy, her most favorite legacy...I feel sometimes as though I am a traitor to her...to those beliefs and strengths...because I don't generally feel all glowy and Earth Mother-y about this whole process, some days, I just barely feel ok about it all. I wonder how many of these feelings will be picked up by Josh. He is so perfect, and so dear and so alert and knowing...and I feel like I do him a huge disservice to even allow these less than maternal thoughts into my head...but that said, I can't help it some times. It never once occured to me that I would be a Mom...and I feel like I'm in a bad dancing school...watching everyone else's feet, and just hoping to God I can keep up when they go into the quickstep and not take myself or anyone else out in the process...
****
The twenty-third.
Jon came home and put his hands on my shoulders, and marched me to bed yesterday. When I haven't gotten enough sleep (and he thinks I had maybe I had five hours of sleep in the last several days, I get morbid and scattered). I hadn't asked him to step in because I thought he was coming down with the flu, and I was trying to let him get his rest. Instead, I ended up doing bad things to my brain. Jon said that I was sniffling and babbling when he came home, and made me promise not to let myself get into that state again. He was actually feeling in pretty good shape. After that much needed nap, I began to feel human again. I'm still kind of tired, but better...much better.
Today Josh is officially 12 lbs. 11 oz., and 24 1/2" long. Healthy, happy, and squirmy...and, we think, just about to cut his first two teeth. Yikes!!!! So, my mission for the Guardian Squad, should you choose to accept it -- and I hope you do -- I need the most effective ways to get him through the teeth process. Ideas, Comments, anyone?
More to come, folks. I must depart...my son is on the floor dancing, and I think he needs a partner.

(p.s. -- sorry about the small print... I am having font issues.)

Lofthouse is the Devil! Originally Sent FEB 7, 2006

I am in the wrong racket. Apparently, certain companies, knowing that the newly parent-ed persuasions are running on little sleep and are at less than optimum on the common sense scale at this stage, have pulled some Barnums on us. I confess to falling for this myself, but I have learned the error of my ways. My latest folly involved a gimmick device called "Lilypads". Imagine a WACKY WALL WALKER -- a little, sticky octoped that you threw at a wall, and they rappelled down the wall, rolling over themselves. Now imagine that some brilliant weasel has come up with the idea of flattening those wallwalkers into a pretty pink pancake with the idea that it will attach to one's bazoom and keep the milk from flowing, thereby saving on the cost of nursing pads. Ha! Like the Wall Walkers of old, a little soap and water and it's sticky again. Of course, also like those little squids, a little liquid on the adhesive area, and it "ain't" so gooey. Supposedly, you can sleep in them, but I'm pretty sure you know where this is going...and going...and going. Yee-ick!

Why didn't anyone tell me that if I missed two feedings or pumpings (when we were out for a few hours in the evening) that the moment I got near my child, one cry would have me gushing like Old Faithful. It went through my nursing pads, and inside my jeans. Gross!
Totally, drippy and gross. Also, why didn't anyone tell me cravings would play such a huge part when you're breastfeeding? I don't recall having cravings during the actual pregnant-process, but I have been eating so much yogurt on a daily basis that Josh's first word will be "Yoplait. On a related note, Josh's breath has a distinctly yougurt-y smell, and Dannon left a message on our answering machine, asking for a blood sample from him -- something about trade secrets, I think.

Also, Pastor Bob, I have discovered that Satan is actually a Lofthouse cookie. I scarfed a whole package of the darn things the other day, and I want them more than air. I will gladly continue to throw myself on that grenade for the benefit of humanity, as I am determined to get him sooner or later. Jon's still being a good sport, and will snag what I ask for, but it's all I can do to convince myself not to keep asking for those stupid cookies...(actual email: Hi,
Honey, how's work? I love you. Need milk and yogurt. -- repeat this conversation every other day, and you get the picture.) I would like to keep some of this off, but gosh darnit, I want those cookies! Carrie said her addiction was McDonalds...just this side of a "Will Work for Fries" thing. And there are no support groups for Lofthouse cookie addicts. None...I checked.


Also, how many irrational worries is a (new) mother supposed to have regarding a Roo? Do they ever stop? Does it get any less annoying to have them when you know darn well they are irrational? I mean, I have no trouble functioning...it's just these stupid random weird
thoughts...every once in a while, the world just seems awfully big and scary. It's not helping that I watched SYBIL (I've never seen it before, and my copy of the book fell apart before I could read through it.) Before the Roo, I could watch a movie like this, and find it a
fascinating psych study...and muse about how exhausted Sally Fields must have been after a day of shooting this...now, I'm wondering how many freaks really are in Z- and how many of them would be in contact with him ... Jon always spoke as though it wasn't the quantity per capita in this area, but the consistancy of the ones you saw. I'm
not certain if this is a comfort or not.



Oh, and after I went to visit that "looney woman" in W-L- (I'm not mentioning any names, but it starts with an "M" -- I'm not saying she's totally and ridiculously gone for this boy, but, well, yes, yes, I am), I came home to find a gloriously clean house. My dark haired genie had worked his magic again. My home is clean...which means I can invite people from outside the house INSIDE the house!!! Actual guest-y types. I can't attest to being a social butterfly at any point in my life... but I kinda' miss conversation...Josh is a great listener, but he can't really expound just yet. I know we are way beyond the boonies, but if any of youhappen to be in the neighborhood, you'd be more than welcome...this clean house thing may not last forever, you know.

Josh is sound asleep, snuggled in his boppy pillow (again!!! Den!!This is the coolest thing ever!!!), making little grunt and coosounds, and blowing bubbles on his lips...I'm cheating...he thinks I'm holding him...but it's hard to hold and type. Four days ago, he began
to smile for real...no, not just gas, nonbelievers, full-out actual
smiles in actual response. The word he responds to so far?
"Wonderful". He smiles at me, and I just feel all bewildered and
glow-y...like when Jon tells me he loves me...Really? Are you sure? Me? COOL!!!!

Yep, I know. For those of you who know me well and my thirty-odd (and ODD!) years of blowing off the kid thing , stop smirking. I'm still not certain about this motherhood gig...but...well, if he's silly enough to be impressed with me, I can be silly enough to run with it. Flattery will, after all, get you anywhere. Flattery and drool.

and yet...and yet...he does seem to fall into that awfully darn cute
category...Nope...I shall remain firm in my convictions...he is
minion, I will not be swayed!!! But he's sooo cute...but --- ack!!!
minion...cute...minion...child too cute...no, no, he's a minion....but
he's so cute....am overwhelmed by cuteness of the child...Mayday!
Mayday!!!

*Deep breath...Pulling self together...* Excuse me please...I'm going
to throw some Lilypads at the wall now.




--

Ring Around the Elsie Originally Sent JAN 31, 2006

According to the What To Expect book, Josh should be able to say "ah-goo" by the end of this month -- we are trying to teach him to say "Supercalifragilousdiexpialidoc

ious". He still looks like the Heat Miser from the old Rudolph cartoons...I am waaaay too amused with his hair. His eyes are slowly changing to brown...I still think he'll take after Jon, and I am happy with that. On the few occasions that I had contemplated children, I never got much further than picturing a little one with Jon's eyes and hair...looking up at me while Jon looked on from over my shoulder...he may not have Jon's hair, but we've had those Hallmark moments.


Josh is doing quite well, he's learning to smile more, and I love watching his expressions (one of them can only be described as a "you've got to be kidding!" look -- you'll see it soon enough, it's kind of a sidelong thing). Jon is learning to snuggle him...and I can sit back and watch them fondly as my boys stare at each other and make faces at each other...Jon's even hugging and kissing him now...Josh still fusses a bit when Jon picks him up, but Jon's doing much better with him. Just as importantly, Jon is doing better with himself, too...he's been smiling more, relaxing a little more...slowly getting back the the Jon I've always known. He's not gung-ho for fatherhood by a longshot, but it's a vast improvement.

Last night, as I was playing the part of Elsie Moo, half-nekkid and with pumps attached, Jon came in, got down on one knee and asked me to marry him again. He whipped out the ring and I laughed and said of course, and while it doesn't have the main stone, I'm feeling much more relieved. He thinks it's rather sad that he's proposed twice now, and I've laughed at him both times -- says it's bad for his ego. We'll look into installing a stone, sometime down the road, but all is well. Jon is also highly amused that he got a better deal on the ring-mount this time than he did the first time. He has mentioned a few times now that I cannot give him anymore grief about wanting a plasma screen tv...I mean, I bruised the car bumper weeks ago in Loudenville (again, not my fault...I was on the pulloff and another car chose to take his part of the road out of the far right side of the right lane, and the far left side of my pulloff...I only attempted to back hastily out of his way), there would be the Josh, and then he (Jon) was a good sport and replaced the engagement ring that never came home from the hospital. He thinks he's been pretty okey-dokey, and by virtue of said okey-dokeyness, he is deserving of a big screen plasma tv...although he's now pondering the idea of a projection tv instead...and since it also sounds like fun to do a LOTR marathon and to watch Serenity on wall, I am finding fewer and fewer straws to grasp at in this matter. I am insisting on having as many surface areas as possible, as those are in short supply in our little home, and if he get's rid of the tv cabinet, I will lose one of my favorite ones...when he has a solution to that, I'll be game for anything.

Ah, I hear the call of the Roo...more to come when I can. By are the way, if there are any of you who are _not_ interested in the Chronicles of Josh, speak up now, or keep being pummeled by my implosive therapy. I might listen to your pleas for email quiet...I might not. We'll just have to see.

Lobsters and Ledges Originally Sent JAN 18, 2006

For the record, there are many wonders in this world. At the moment, my two favorite are a good and brilliant man, and hot water...and considering the state of scuz I have been in recently, the one made possible my ability to enjoy the other. Yay!!! I was LOBSTER LADY again!!!. More importantly, I was clean and shiny and no longer a candidate for my very own toxic warning label. Jon took one for the team, and forced me to crash for five glorious hours, and when I awoke, I was then able, thanks to his foresight in getting the Roo settled and down, to get A REAL BATH last night. A bath! Oh rapture!!!!

Jon is still gingerly feeling his way through this fatherhood thingy...according to his reading (and he's been cramming almost as much as I have lately) everytime I nurse Josh, my biology bonds me to him more. We think this is why, after thirty-odd (emphasis on ODD) years of not being overly impressed with the small alien beings known as children, I'm getting rather fond on this one, and why Jon remains slightly off-balance and uncertain about the whole process. We have bounced around (ok, I mentioned one time) the idea of getting a one of those nursing devices for men. Jon has politely and firmly decided that rather than wear a prosthetic breast to bond with his progeny, he will continue to bottle feed his way along the trixsy path O' parenthood and leave the mammaries to them that have them...We have decided after much thought to not consider Josh a "child" per se, but rather as our very first "minion"...as it has always been our goal to take over the world someday, and all evil overlords are required to have minions. It's in the contract actually. Besides, the silly people who oppose us will be overwhelmed by his cuteness, and succomb to our will that much faster. And his minion uniform will be that much less expensive as there will be less fabric involved. Hey, just because one is an Evil Overlord, it doesn't mean one must be any less fiscally responsible.(Josh in Minion Uniform --> )


Josh is now officially over a month old ...hard to believe, I know...and apparently, I have some catch up reading to do... everyone else knew that he would be hitting a honkin' growth spurt...and that I would be playing 24-7 Elsie to my "fridge-raiding" Roo... (Drink all you want, we'll make more?) Now, no one bothered to tell me that it would last a week (I was thinking a day. Seriously)...I could not sleep, I could not lie down...I could not put him down...My little red-haired remora was constantly attached. The sleep deprivation was amusing and then frightening...it was evident in my forgetfulness...I would put an item down, some place safe and obvious...I would then spend the next five hours hunting for it (for those of you fine people awaiting thank you's, I beg your indulgence...my thank you notes have temporarily shared this fate as well). I have been lightedheaded and dizzy in the extreme...it was almost impossible to stand up and there have been many times in this last week where Josh and I were going to play an endgame of Twister sans mat. It became almost as nerve wracking as Josh's cries -- and this week that's what he excelled at. Now, not all the time, not forever...but he was apparently in the same kind of state I was as far as sleep deprivation...What we had been doing was trying to put him down at eleven when we attempted to crash...I'd then be up around 1:30-2 and then somewhere between three and five for the second course... Yes, Jon offered to help, but until recently, I hadn't been able to have an extra bottle stashed away for his use. Frankly, Jon was unequipped for the job. This last week, I'd put Josh down, he'd be up again in a second...there have got to be new words for exhausting, and apparently, as tired as the little guy was, he would get himself too worked up to sleep. It made for some incredibly rough nights...when Jon went back to work on Thursday, that day was as rough as the first day that we brought Josh home...I don't know who cried or howled more that day...Josh, or me... That night Jon forcibly marched me to bed...I was whining and babbling and again, remember little. Last night he did the same thing...I slept from nine p.m. to 1:30 a.m., and never was that bed more lovely. Again, my brilliant husband has hit on something that may be the savior of our sanity. There was no reason for Josh to be up and entertaining us until our bedtime. He suggested that we start his bath time at seven, play some good music (I do love the fact that my boy is a blatant Michael Buble fan -- the song "Feeling Good" calms him immediately...it was also the song that was in my head as I wobbled down the hospital hallway to hold him for the first time. He is also partial to anything with a solid harmony, and musicals...not certain how he feels about the song "Hold Me, Bat Boy" -- when I sing along at the top of my lungs, he looks at me out of the corner of his eye, and I swear, actually rolls his little grey-brown eyes at me. The joy of embarassing my child has begun. Ah, parenthood!) Anyhow, we've started bedtime at eight, eight thirty, and for the last two nights, he's been very easy to deal with (don't let me jinx us please!!!). He's in his own room now (his, meaning it has the changing table w/his clothes and toys and bassinet in it...it is also still primarily my library...) The change of location seems to have helped delay the nightly rounds, too....I'm a little concerned about the problems we've been having with the monitor...in that the monitor doesn't work. It may be all of the electrical interference from all of the cb's in the vicinity, but we don't know for certain. Ah well...I set my little wrist alarm to the key points in the night, and Josh is sleeping sounder, and we, well, we're getting there.

The other day we visited Mom and Dad and the "Other" grandson...Josh may draw a crowd, but Little Mark knows how to work them. He flirts, he giggles, he struts...the boy will put Ricky Martin to shame the second he knows how to swivel his hips. By rights, the great car god, Babalooo (the all powerful god of traffic and good parking spaces) should be taking notes from my nephew...for in the not too distant future, all traffic will be directed only to this little dark haired imp. At two, he already has a distinct swagger.

I have decided, after much thought, that I can handle this baby thing...This baby thing meaning the "not moving much, looking cute, making faces, and staying out of trouble" part. We are, again, slowly inching our way across the excessively narrow ledge of the hood of parenting (and whose idea was it to give parents a hood of their own, anyhow? ) but as I watched my nephew bounce around, off and over everything these last few days (channeling ol' Bill again as I did so -- "No, Dad...I'm Da--it, He's Jesus Christ!!!), "helping" Mom and Carrie with the redecoration of the kitchen and other interesting rooms...I found myself wondering how we were going to handle a much more mobile Roo. After much thought, I found myself re-voting for the twenty-year epidural we had hoped for initially (for us, of course). Oh, Congress, it would seem that we have found a viable alternative energy source!


We offered to trade Josh for Jasper (Mom's large and regal ragdoll -- and everyone's most favorite cat) or Chance (Carrie's sainted American bulldog). Carrie's response? "Well, there are no real guarantees on Josh, yet, are there? I mean, really, I'm going to need to see more personality. Will he be a good playmate for Mark? Will Josh let Mark sit or jump on Josh's head?" Good question. Points to ponder, in fact, as Josh does not strike me as being the type who would be amused by this head-jumping procedure. Mom, who turns down hourly offers from people wanting Jasper, has actually been mulling this suggestion quite seriously...and, in point of fact, has not actually given us an answer yet...



(On a side note: To Brenda, Dawn, Jodi, and Diane and all the other C- teachers I saw a few days ago...YOU LOOK MAHVELOUS!!! Dear God, ladies...slap on some gold lame hip boots and a shimmery mini, and all of you could be dead ringers for the dancers in an Austin Powers cut scene. .I remain, for any number of reasons, wholly in awe of all of you.)
--

Calling All Angels Orginally Sent JAN 9, 2006

Ok... It's me again, begging for favors. As we have stated in the past, Jon and I have no clue as to what we are doing. Thankfully, all we really have to do right now is hold the little guy and make faces at him (Jon was "reading" an animal picture book with Josh in his lap and making cute little animal sounds for each critter...then he came to a page with a rabbit on it. Given our proximity to the road and woods, his first inclination for a rabbit sound was "Squish!!!"...but he settled for, "What's Up Doc?!!"), but I need ideas. What were some really neat things your parents did to get you interested in life's simple joys when you were little -- or, better yet, do you remember teaching yourself any of these lessons? It doesn't have to be anything extreme... I remember being absolutely convinced as a little girl that fireflies were baby stars...and that if you could wish on the falling stars, you could wish on the tiny "rising stars"...to this day, as fireflies rise from the summer grasses, I make thousands of wishes on each twinkly light.

Need input, please. Thanks.

--

God's Not Done Laughing Yet -- Annotated Version Originally Sent JAN 1, 2006

Well...In yet another prime example that I cannot do anything in a normal fashion...I introduce the following evidence:

Monday, the 12th, I went in with Jon to see Dr. D. for the first of the bi-weekly check-ins until the 31st... Dr. D. is a genuinely sweet guy, but also a busy man... The exam went very quickly ("Hi, any questions?" "Yes...I---ye-OWWW!".)...baby was still there. Heartbeat was strong...Josh woke up long enough to shuffle around and make the nurse happy... I told the doc about an online lamaze class I had found, he was amused...I asked how many exercises I was supposed to do to get myself into "marathon labor shape" since time was somewhat limited. He was more amused. (Meanwhile, back in my head,I was trying to picture a Rocky Balboa training montage in my head with pelvic tilts and kegels...but I had to stop, as I then pictured Sly Stallone moaning in labor pains, and my head hurt. Adrian, indeed.) Before the doc's appointment and after, I was wandering around Wal-Mart in an attempt to finish up the requisite paperwork, and everyone to the person was on me because I was supposed to be on bedrest, and why wasn't I on bedrest...
Level 2 Bedrest, for the uninitiated, is defined as being forced to flop around all day on your side, waiting for something intelligent to come on the television. Oddly enough, because I'm usually charging around busily on my working days, my idea of a good time on my days off is actully flopping on my side and waiting for something intelligent to come on the television. (Jon, on his days off, cleans house, and makes it gorgeous...yes, he is a much better person than I am...I admit this freely, and I will not share. MINE!!!) For some reason, once I
was TOLD (with serious glaring and actual paperwork that said I'm supposed) to be resting, I couldn't stand it. I was pacing the house from day one, ready to tear the walls down with my nails (had I had any at that point) . So on the one day I had a doc appointment, I did as much outside prowling as possible...the joke was that by the time the actual "needed to be done stuff" was done, it was two o'clock anyhow, and I had to pick up Jon at 4, so rather than go home and "bedrest" for a few minutes before driving back to get Jon, I prowled some more in Z-. Jon tried to get out on time, but Mondays usually mean that he works the front desk and that means he could be stuck there at least thirty minutes past the normal shift-end. We ended up leaving Z- at five. Now, keep in mind, I think I'm fooling someone. I have outwitted the bedrest requirement (Bedrest? Bedrest?! We don't need no stinkin' Bedrest!) and in technically "legal fashion." I mean.. I had to get that stuff done, or it would have been bad, right? At any rate, I was showing no signs of "popping sprog" (as Eric, a good friend, had recently put it) and went home to flop accordingly.


Ah. Well--- ...At 12 in the morning, I started having back pains. Minor...I thought. Eh. I'm tough...so tough that by 4 am, I could no longer stay in bed, because I was doing contortions that would have made a Cirque Du Soleil star die of envy. I called the doc in an effort to find out what I could take, since Advil was all that we had in the house, and I was told not to use advil. Jon woke up about then, to find me crawling around on all fours, and doing various impersonations of a camel with Mad Cow disease, He rubbed my back, he rubbed my neck...he asked me if he should call off work. At that point, in my brilliance, I stood up to tell him that no, he should definately go into work, and I then decided that standing up was the most cosmically, brilliantly stupid thing I'd ever done in my life. So Jon called off. At seven, I was crying for my mother, at eight, I was crying for anyone's mother and Jon was back on the phone with the doc, who literally had said "Take two Tylenol, etc..." Tylenol is crap. For the record, the only thing Tylenol does is leave a nasty aftertaste in one's mouth. It doesn't actually "relieve" anything. I think doctors say the "take two.." phrase as their way of pushing the snooze button. It could work with anything and still not be especially effective. "Take two elephants" or "take two Republicans"...ZZZZZZ!!!! (Ok, with the republicans, I can see this happening quite often, actually...) After tearing the house apart, we managed to find a small packet of extremely dusty and pitiful looking generic Tylenol. They tasted just as awful as I thought they would, and did just as little as I thought they would. Somehow Jon scraped me into the car, and managed to get me to the hospital. During the forty minute car-ride to Z-, I had my feet locked against the floor boards and my neck locked against the headrest...everything else was arched and ouchy...I don't know how he managed to get me into the hospital...I only remember clinging to one of the last bits of advice Mom had given me..."Kim, the strong stoic routine isn't necessary...if you're hurting, they have some wonderful things to take the edge off. Epidurals are wonderful things." I had no intention of being strong and stoic. Anyone who knows me knows I am the very model of a modern major wuss. I was blubbery, stupid, and had been told, in this case, that drugs were my friends, and I was going to be making some new and very fine acquaintences that day. That was the plan. The nurse admitting me didn't even think I was in actual labor yet, but that changed at 9 thirty, when Josh decided then and there that he'd had enough. I went into full out whine-mode around ten-ish. "Ok...ready for the epidural now...anytime would be good." Apparently, there were some crucial things that no one bothered to mention to me...like that if a mysterious phrase like "seven centimeters" jumps to a further mysterious number like "ten centimeters" in the space of thirty minutes, epidurals are not going to be helpful. So what?!! I was promised drugs, damnit (Sorry Pastor Bob and Norma), and now I was denied simply because "the baby would be here before the epi kicked in...". "Give it to me anyway!!! Hit me in the head, run me over with a truck, throw me down an escalator...something!" (Carrie, Den --- I'm sorry to disillusion you, but I was NOT superwoman...I was superwussy and in my long and varied career of finding new and stupid ways to damage myself, this was officially the most bizarre situation I'd ever gotten myself into.) I remember kicking my poor attending nurse in the head, and then little else. Jon, meanwhile had the chance to call the cast and crew...and Mom and Dad were on their way up and must have made really good time, they were at the hospital at 11:30...

In the meantime, I think every person in the hospital got the chance to wander in and see parts of me that I've never had any desire to see. I think all I was doing was re-enacting scenes from the Exorcist. If it was gross, personally embarassing or lacking any attempt at dignity (Dignity? Oh please! I was still blubbering over my lost epidural.) I excelled at it.

I know Mom was in the room because I remember long fingernails on my forehead and arm and someone sniffling and crying and laughing at the same time...It wasn't me...I was still whining. Jon was amazing, as usual...always my hero. Without lamaze instructions, with out any clue as to what he was supposed to do, and strictly following the lead of the nurse he helped me do the necessary breathing to get through the contractions...I heard his voice more than anything, and most of the time it sounded like he was underwater...or maybe that was just how I felt... Under a lot of dark water...

All joking aside, one of my biggest fears (and because I was always afraid of it, I told Jon, and he was afraid too) has always been that I would die in childbirth. Now, the Doc , when I told him this (knowing that there probably wasn't a rational explaination for the fear, but that it was there just the same) gave me the impression that I would be seriously denting his reputation if I did anything like that, so I simply wasn't to die on his watch -- he was paid big bucks to worry for me, and besides he had a new catcher's mitt all shiny and polished for the procedure, and if I keeled, I wouldn't be there to admire his work. All well and good to say prior to when you're trying to keep a soon-to-be mom just this side of hysteria, but really hard to remember when all but one voice in the room are blurring and indecipherable. Jon was keeping his focus on me, half an eye on Mom and glaring at the Doc -- who kept wandering in and out of the room even when the head started to show. For those of you thinking how wonderful (or how jealous you might be) that a first time mother had solid labor for only three and a half hours and then delivered, don't look at me. If I had been left to my own devices, that kid would have been in there for another eighteen hours at least or may not have gotten out at all. Jon, as usual, had enough sense for both of us, and if he hadn't cajoled and adored, and in the end, quietly and firmly bullied me through the last stage, I don't think I'd be here today. I really don't. He didn't want me in pain, and he had resolved to make it move as quickly as possible. Josh wisely chose to be accomodating. So again, it weren't me. I'm not that good, and I certainly didn't feel that lucky. It was strictly a tacit understanding between my hero husband and my soon to be progeny. Thankfully, they were both on my side. "It's almost over." Jon kept saying. Now, this part I remember specifically...I have been told that I did not cuss, I did not riff on the gene pool of my husband, or the line of "begat-ting" that had brought him into my life. I did not say that he could never touch me again, or even suggest a happy little restraining order if he even _thought_ of looking at my pj's in the dryer. I did none of the things that Cosby's wife was said to have done...I said nothing I suppose that wifeys in general are supposed to say in the last phase. I do recall, that after Jon told me for the hundredth time that "it was almost over", I called him a liar. I heard Jon, but could feel myself fading out and down each time...I think I may somehow have been falling asleep during the intervals between the contractions, but I couldn't be sure...it seemed harder and harder to find my way back...I was too tired, I hadn't been ready for this, and I couldn't possibly have enough strength to do whatever it was they wanted me to do...and then the choice wasn't mine any longer... Josh was somehow suddenly at a spot where it was push or let him stay where he was and hurt more...and so I pushed. Twenty minutes after I called my husband a liar, it was over.

The next thing I remember is shaking, badly...and a warm, slimy blue squid had been flopped on my stomach and was making a serious effort to slide off (I had no glasses on, and that was truly the impression I got). I was offered the chance to hold him, but my hands were numb from the handlebars on the side of the bed, and I was shaking so hard that any movement on my part would have sent the blue squid officially off me, and onto the floor where it would slide out the door like a hockey puck...ok, poor analogy continuation...on an ice rink, a squid would stick to the floor, not slide. For days after the fact, I would remain convinced that if I didn't play my cards right, I would leave the hospital with the alien squid baby I thought I'd delivered (shades of MIB right there), and not the Josh I'd come to know later.

Jon did the cord cutting and then, as the docs finished up with me (I don't seem to recall Jane Seymore ever having a hair out of place, or broken blood vessels and spots in her eyes in any episode or Lifetime movie that she gave birth...could I sue for false advertisement? I really wanted to be Jane Seymore...instead, I ended up as a character from the TROMA dvds), and then took Josh to a corner and quietly explained why he shouldn't be kicking his mother (I'm thinking Josh should look into swimming...his last movements inside me constituted of a perfect flutter-kick...Michael Phelps, watch your butt!). Then, Josh was taken away...it seemed that he had inhaled some fluid on the way out, and they needed to keep him in ICN for a few days observation.

I remember little of that first day...Jon held my hand and talked to me...we cried some more, we talked some more...and then I just shut down and "went coma" -- our term for what happens to me when I'm sick...Mom always thought it was brilliant on my part, I'd just stop what I was doing and go to sleep. I never had a choice in the matter, it was like someone flicked a switch. I was gone...I would be awakened occasionally by someone poking at me, or checking my blood pressure. I awoke to Jon watching me with tears in his eyes. He was proud of me, he said, but his eyes were still shell-shocked and scared. I don't remember talking to Mom or Dad that day...although I was later told that Jon turned into super GermanShepard boy...he was very protective of Josh and I, and was often in the ICN watching Josh and holding him while he waited for me to recoup. I think the rest of the family showed up sooner or later, but Jon took them down and showed them Josh through the window...and left me to sleep. I don't remember much else that day...until about a quarter til four in the morning. Poor Jon was asleep on the floor. While the mattress from the birthing room bench was comfy, it still wasn't long enough for his tall frame. His feet hung off the edge. Even in sleep, he looked worried and scared...he frowned and ground his teeth as he always does when he is stressed. I don't know how I found my way to the ICN...I felt like I was in a maze (although the ward only had two actual corners between my room and the ICN), and I was very suprised that I could keep myself upright. I was let into a locked room where there were six babies lined up against the wall. Josh, at eight pounds, three ounces, and 21 inches long -- was the biggest and healthiest looking of the lot...and that was including the fact that he had a small oxygen cover over his head to help clear up the fluid in his lungs...the vast majority of the little ones in there maybe weighed about four or five pounds, and the tiny creature next to Josh was not only painfully and frightening underweight (his whole body could fit in one hand), but he was under UV lighting and his eye were covered with gauze bandages. He looked like the victim of a war.



So I watched my son... "My Son" is a weird thing to say...I'm still getting used to it. I watched my son as he was attached to scary beepy things, with tubes coming out of his little hand. They had him under a heat lamp and on a heat pad, and he resembled a little, red-headed baked potato. I watched my son's face under the oxygen hood, and sniffled and cried as he sniffled and fussed a bit...Even under that hood, I could see that he frowned in his sleep the same way Jon had been doing...and then... they let me hold him...and I think that may have been the beginning of the end for me.

I still don't feel like a Mommy. I certainly don't see myself as a parent...but I have this little Josh creature...and I am finding myself rather fond of this little Josh creature, if wholly overwhelmed and severely questioning the sense of humor of a rather twisted All-powerful being. (But then, according to the books, Man was created in God's image...I just never really pictured God as a smart a-- er, aleck. Who knew?!!). Jon is not nearly convinced yet...He tried to take him to the return desk at Wal-Mart, but was told that without a receipt, he could only exchange Josh for the same exact thing...something about a Copyright policy. We couldn't even get a gift card, gosh darn-it. Jon has also decided that since Josh is about the size of a football that he could actually pass for a football...and I have been having a bit of a time trying to convince him that he cannot actually punt or spike his son... (He smiles and holds his arms up like goalposts, tilts his head up and and says "Goal !!!!")...Now, gently Mom!!! I told you, Gallow's Humor is key to our -- and to Josh's survival...I freely confess that there are infinately more qualified folks out there who would have clue one as to how to raise this little guy...(Jon, taking a cue from the tabloids, is offering a reward for the "REAL PARENTS"...)...my goal is not to dent him on my watch and to get the crying to stop quickly. I don't know this counts as full-out maternal instinct, but it's a start. As for not denting him on our watch, we have found a new and fascinating way to torture the mad and frothy Grandma contingent...We considered taking Josh to my mom's and putting a Winnie the Pooh bandaid on his forehead. Not because he would be hurt, but because it would mess with Mom's head. Yes, it is a bad thought...and we should feel shame...but we don't...and in fact the idea is still fairly amusing to us. Mom for some reason did not have the same reaction when we posed this idea to her. She said we were evil...Hmm, go figure.

The grandmothers, great, small and in between, are circling like buzzards...friendly, possessive, overly protective buzzards, but really...I'd hate to leave this kid out in the open with all of them cruising the nearby skies.

(Mom and Josh Christmas 2005)

Rhonda (Jon's Mom) nearly killed Tim when we handed Josh off to him on his first visit. She was bouncing and hopping all over the place like a little kid until we finally gave Josh to her, and then she acted as though every Christmas had come at once. The grandfathers, again great, pretty good and okey-dokey -- are just as silly... there is more pride for this little red-haired boy than I could ever have imagined. As most of you know, when Dev and Jay were born, the joke was that there would be one to caddy for Dad, one to caddy for Grandpa Ours...and with the birth of Joshua Chamberlain, there is finally someone to stay home and mow the lawn. Ah, to know one's purpose in life...

As for Auntie Suzing...would you believe that for once in her life, she was left without words? I'm not certain that this is a good thing, but it was fascinating to witness.


I take great comfort in the flock of guardian angels surrounding us. There's not a dusty wing in the bunch. Thank you one and all.


More to come.


--

Milk From God's Nose -- Orginally Sent DEC 9, 2005

Ok gang...some of you have heard this story already...some of you have not...In any case, I hope for your sake that you are sitting down. Ok...no, that won't work...get out of your chair. Lie down on the floor...tie yourselves down...Just Trust me.


Two and a half months ago, I sneezed. Those of you who have witnessed my sneezes know they are just short of gael-force winds...people have nearly been blown through walls, small countries have been wiped off the map. Those of you who have been close to me when I have sneezed know that I foolishly try to restrain my sneezes in a misguided attempt to not send you through those very walls. In this case, I sneezed, I pulled a muscle in my lower abdomen.. We've been remodeling our Wallyworld, going Superstore, and I'm working in the Lawn and Garden/Seasonal department. This area has the most movement with regards to shelf stocking and so forth, so obviously, I've been doing a lot of lifting, tramping around on the cement floor for nine hours a day -- so yes...I was achy, I had back pain, big old ouchy cashier feet, and yeah, I probably overdid it. I also felt like a helium balloon, as I had been attempting to eat healthier, and I was eating many veggies. (trust me, the story will get better in a moment). Last week, I could barely get in and out of the car...if I came home after work, I just wanted to curl up in the corner of the couch and I couldn't move beyond that. Most of the muscle pain I was having was located in my lower abdomen where I had pulled that muscle when I sneezed...and as I am on high blood pressure pills, and they said that if you had prolonged pain in the abdomen that you should have it checked out, I finally stopped stalling and went to my doc.

The exam did not go well. First, I had gained eight or nine pounds...so I began the process by glaring at everything for the next twenty minutes until the doc came in to do the actual checkup. I explained about the ouchiness, and as I flopped back on the table, she got this really nervous look in her eyes. Now, this is a lady who normally the calmest, most unflappable, unexcitable person I've ever come across. All of a sudden, she's whipping around the room, trying every test, blood work, everything. I had a solid mass located just under my ribs. When she pushed on it, it yanked on the hurting muscles. I hadn't worried about the mass at the time, because it seemed to have appeared about the time of my sneeze...Again, I thought it was some variant of the pulled muscle thing...it didn't hurt, it didn't do anything...it was just there...sometimes it seemed more noticeable than others. Then she whipped out a stethescope and tried to listen to it. I had not yet hooked up the sound system, I guess, and she heard nothing but me. She thought it could have been a gravid uterus, but she heard no heart sounds. Not to put too fine a point on it, but she did a quick check and saw nothing that would confirm that I was inhabited...this led her to believe that it was much scarier than a pulled muscle. As a formality, she gave me a pregnancy test, did more blood work, and set up an appointment to have my stomach and pelvic area cat-scanned to determine what the mass might be...Silly me, I didn't know you could cat-scan anything but a head. It could have been a cyst, but by the end of the exam, I was beginning to wonder if I was looking at the really, really terrifying stuff...like the nasty embodiment of my astrological sign. I ended up cowering in a corner for a bit, and it took me an additional twenty minutes to calm down enough to drive home. Before I left, they told me to check in later that night and they would confirm what tests they could. They also asked me if I wanted some Zanex or something to get through the next couple of days until the remainder of the labwork came back...by then I was ok...I said no...I jokingly asked if I could have a few for my husband. A delayed doctor's visit for a pulled muscle would get me a few pointed looks from him and a few minor "I told you so's" -- I would have felt shame and then been more responsible in the future. But this.... In the last couple of months, Jon had lost a dear friend to an aggressive stomach cancer, and his dad was just released from the hospital after he chose to ignore a skin infection that ended up going berserk, and now I was looking at something that really seemed to have very little to do with pulled muscles. I was trying very hard not to think...it was the only way I could keep myself calm. I was not, at the time, able to comprehend how many "I told you so's..." this would rate on the scale, but as it turned out later, I would have been wiser to taken them up on their offer of Zanex.


At four-thirty, I had picked Jon up from work, and I called the doc for some results...and then everything froze. The test came back positive. What? Which test? Which test?!!! "The pregnancy test is reading positive, but there were no heartsounds...I can only think that maybe you had a pregnancy that didn't complete itself...it's non-viable, and you'll need to go to the emergency room to have it removed immediately." Um, sure, yeah...emergency room...yeah, we can do that. So we whipped around and dashed to Good Sam's to do whatever needed to be done. I donned the latest in hospital fashion -- faded with just a hint of personal air-conditioning, flopped on yet another cold table and cue the first ER nurse... a sweet little blond creature who put a stethescope on the mass under my ribs and smiled and said, "So, do you want to hear the heartbeat?" Time begins to slow down. "I'm sorry ma'am...I think you have a pre-recorded message in your stethescope...There's not supposed to be a heartbeat..." She frowned, looked confused, handed me the stethescope...and there was a swishy sound, a thuddy, watery, swishy sound. I vaguely remember throwing the stethescope at Jon who listened and then looked as though the floor had fallen out from under him...but wait...there's more!!!

The next person to enter the room was a doctor who stood at the doorway, and who could tell __from the doorway__ "Oh, nah, we don't even need an ultrasound...You're almost at full-term." Cue the two squad vehicles bringing four accident victims, and for the next five hours, Jon and I were left to our own devices. We used this time wisely, as you can imagine...after years of telling everyone that we were not the parenting type, that we didn't want to share our toys, that we questioned the logic of trying to raise the fuzzy cats, and that I can't keep goldfish alive (I even killed the goldfish screensaver on my computer!!!!...it was horrible, I worked on another computer for days and days...came back to mine, and there was my screensaver fish, bobbing at the top of the screen) -- those five hours were spent in rigorous debate over which of us got to throw up or pass out first (in fact, this is actually a topic still under discussion, as we have not yet determined who has won that debate). Close to 9, 9:30, we were discharged from G.S (with the words "NEEDS EMOTIONAL SUPPORT" in hefty black lettering on the discharge paperwork) and they transferred us to Bethesda, where we were admitted onto the baby floor for a full gamut of testing. In fact, I had eight and a half months of tests to catch up on. That's right. Eight and a half months. It would not be confirmed until the next day that I was in the high thirty-weeks of end run pregnancy. Oddly enough, now that the kid was discovered, it chose to uncurl itself from under my ribs and commence stretching, kicking, and basically doing the Dance of Joy around my internal organs. Sleep wasn't an option the first night...and it wasn't much easier the second. I can tell you that IT is a he, and he's currently 7 lbs., 3 oz., and is expected to join the party officially on New Years Eve. Yes, Nancy, that meant that Wild-Man Doug could dress up with surgical gloves and mask and deliver this critter while Dick Clark dropped his ball on tv, and you passed out the appetizers at the party...(I hope you'll forgive us if we are unable to attend this year...I can only say that something has, um, come up...). His name is Joshua Chamberlain, and he is expected to gain a pound a week for the next three weeks -- Given this kid's sense of humor so far, and his flair for the dramatic, we fully believe he will be at least the New Year's baby in Z- (but I can see him trying for the National Title), which means that anyone who hasn't had a chance to laugh or choke (or both) at this situation should have the opportunity to commemorate the occasion in big bold black headline print. Yep...we have three weeks to play catch up. Instant baby...just add stress and stir. The kid has my timing and has begun his life (forgive the phrasing, but it's appropriate) as a smart-ass -- so he also has an appropriate inheritance from his father. It bodes not well for us...if he's outsmarted us in fetu, how are we supposed to keep up with him when he's a teenager... I demand a recount...Something!!!

SO you may be asking yourself, how in the world can a kid sneak under the radar of two such obsessively un-parentlike people like ourselves? How is it that we have in my belly what one usually finds on the cover of the Weekly World News or Enquirer (Woman Gives Birth in Supermarket -- "I had no idea I was pregnant..." Elvis reputed to be the father...). I have been on the shot since 93...it's 99.999999 etc. % accurate...every symptom of pregnancy is mimicked by the shot. Even the doc assigned to us (and he is a hoot) has only seen one other couple on the shot that still conceived...we didn't have a chance to find out yet how far along they were, but given the reaction of every SINGLE person in the hospital, we think we have them beat. So I had swollen feet and ankles...I was on my feet all day. So there was weight gain...it's the holidays. The only symptoms I had were slight muscle pain in my stomach (again, no more severe than a minor muscle pull), and that helium feeling that I thought was one green pepper too many. We were under a doctor's care the whole time... and she didn't catch it. I even considered that the two symptoms could be related...there was one other thing, a ripple on my left side from waist to rib cage. Again, not to put too fine a point on it, I thought that was related to the helium feeling...every one I talked to who had been pregnant said they got played like a drum from the inside, and I never felt that at all. The ripples seemed to be muscle spasms just under the skin, but not much more than you'd experiece if someone were tickling you with a feather. The net search I did on the three symptoms (muscle spasms on left side, bloated feeling, slight abdomen pain) led me to believe it might be diverticulitis...which was treated with an increased fiber intake, and or surgery if it didn't correct itself. For every clue and sign there was a valid reason not to believe it was pregnancy. Even the big hint, which would have been the monthly ouchiness, didn't play a part as I haven't had to deal with that for three years thanks to the shot. No morning sickness, no nothing. Just sneaky kid.


At any rate, this is where we are now...I've been consigned to bedrest (BLAH!!!) -- more because I don't think they know what else to do with me than because it's actually necessary. I've made it through day one of maternity leave and I am bored out of my head. I will have two doc appointments a week, and they will treat me as though I'm overdue, as we don't really know when Josh was conceived. I don't feel any different, really. Josh is hopping around and stretching out like a little frog, and I'm trying to figure out how to remake our back storage room into a baby room in a matter of days. Jon is still very much stunned, but sleep and kind words are helping his perspective. In a major step...one that actually almost happened immediately, he went from calling it an it to "Josh" -- which I'm taking as a good sign. We know that this situation, bizarre as it is, is also pretty darned funny, so please laugh or choke or do what you need to do -- believe me I understand...we are, however, trying to get our heads around this, so we are asking for calm, cool heads around us. If anyone acts hyper and overly excited, we'll react to it by trying to cower and hide. So far, everyone's been very kind, and Mom has already put the C- teachers on notice, my work and Jon's are plotting for us...it would seem somehow that between all the good folks wanting to help us out that we may not want for anything until Josh is in college. By some miracle, there are apparently two bassinets and a crib already in play and clothing and toys and stuff, and the only thing I've done as a mom-to-be is learn to sleep on my left side. With that being the case, and with us having a) absolutely no clue as to what baby things we will suddenly have and b) very little room to put great quantities of baby-spoiling things, we must respectfully and with the greatest appreciation ask everyone to use as much restraint as possible. We respect everyones' right to spoil him out of his gourd, and we would not willingly stand in anyone's way. That would be wrong. What little information we have about parenthood has led us to believe that not-spoiling a baby would be an impossible request to for anyone to fulfill anyway. If you want your chance, I'm sure you'll have it...just give us a few weeks to see where we are. At this time, what we really need is as much good advice and prayer support as possible.

Tease me if you want to, but be gentle with Jon...I'm used to having a support network...he's used to flying without a net (and right now, he still thinks the ground is coming up very quickly). The theory (well, it's everyone else's theory) is that we will do ok as parents...but keep in mind, Josh has had a headstart of nearly a year on us, and we will need some time to catch up. We have adopted a sort of gallows humor that might not seem appropriate for anyone else listening, but it's what's getting us through this...if we keep laughing, we can keep ourselves on just this side of hysteria, and the terror of it all won't feel so overwhelming. The second day of the observation, Jon asked me how we got ourselves into this.How could this happen to us? My response was as follows: "Well, sometimes, when a man and woman really love each other, they cuddle each other in a very special way...She says Oh, my God, Oh my God...and this is followed a couple of months later by 'You evil rat-weasel, don't you ever touch me again.. ' with various aspersions cast on his ancestry thrown in for good measure.' Jon, never to be outdone, of course followed this up with the Bill Cosby reference, "Then my wife stood up... in the stirrups, and on the next contraction, she told everybody in the delivery room that my parents were never married. " I was drinking water at the time, and inhaled it and nearly died choking and laughing. Josh responded to this by kicking me in the ribs to get me to chill out. Apparently he will be the designated straight man in our family.

We have decided to think as far ahead as the delivery...Jon is considering the evil video camera, but we have decided that our baby movie should be slightly more interesting than the usual baby movie...after all, he has shown no inclination to behave like the usual baby so far...We intend to insert scenes from Alien and Spaceballs at strategic moments, and we feel that for theme music, we should use the song from Jaws. (Da dum....da dum...dadadadadada dada DAHHHH da da DAAAAHHHHH -- Just when you thought it was safe to go into your doctor for some stronger anti-inflamatories and a good dose of prescription strength Rolaids!!!!).

Well, this has been my week...how about yours?

Love you all.
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