Friday's Letters

Dear Lovekins: You're so awesomepants for taking care of me last week while I was puking up my guts. Honestly, how many stomachs can I possibly have for all of that to be produced? Regardless, I love you a whole bunch. However, I'm mad at you because when I "got you sick", all you got was a neckache. Boo. I mean, how do you do that? How do I spend four days in the fetal position clutching a bucket, when you get a neckache and are "a little chilly"?

Dear Christmas: I hate you and I love you. I hate you because: You're expensive. You're cold. You're messy. You come bearing fruitcake from everyone I have ever met. You are no longer politially correct. I love you because: You're Christmas.

Dear Grumpkins: You're a silly kid. I love that your personality is showing a lot more now. You're playing games and cracking jokes that only you get, apparently. Heaven forbid we interrupt you. Carry on playing by yourself in your crib. Mommy's gonna go have a nap.

Dear Judgemental Jerkholes: Yes, I'm married. No, I'm not sixteen. Yes, she's mine. Yes, I know who the father is and NO, I was not drunk during conception. Does that answer everything? I mean, really. I know I'm small, but so? I don't pass judgement on you just because your entire shopping cart is full of boxed wine and you smell like feet. We are all God's children. (Said with the utmost Sassy Pantsness.)

Dear Bloggy Friends: I've come to the realization recently that I'm loads funnier while I'm pregnant. That being said, no, I'm not going to run out and get pregnant again any time soon. Not on purpose, anyway. So, for now, you'll just have to put up with some occasional lackluster posts about The Grumpster and my dying social life. Cheers.
 

Instagram Update

 

 

 

Babies are the coolest.

She's babbling now.

Saying

da da da da da da da da da da daaaaa

over and over again.

Nick thinks that counts as a win.

It's not a win, is it?

 

She also likes singing.

Not only does she like my singing,

but she likes to sing

all by herself.

She sounds a bit like

a dog whistle

on steroids.

But it's okay

because

it makes her so happy.

Especially when we clap

and say, "YAY!"

 

 

Like I said,

babies are the coolest.

Why Texting is Satan's Plaything

Anyone who has ever texted on a smartphone, or used predictive text, knows what a dangerous situation they are putting themselves in. Namely, what is this message actually going to say when the other person receives it?

We've all been there.

Now, I love using autocorrect. Really, I do. It capitalizes words for me and adds the necessary apostrophe to any contraction. As a former English major, I'm a little embarrassed of how much I rely on it, honestly. However, there are those fabulous occasions when autocorrect turns into an extremely interesting fiasco. For example, this:

When I sent this to my charming husband, we were still dating. He was actually planning on proposing on the aforementioned Monday. He never did take me pooping...

Or this:

Nick: Do you want me to pick up something for dinner?
Me: Nah. I've got some chicken thawing. Butthat you.
Nick: Did you just call me a butthat?
Me: Yes. Yes I did. I did, however, mean "but thank you."

Or this:

Me: Can I borrow your crackpot?
Mom: Sorry. I just can't part with it. But I can lend you my crock pot.
Me: That works. Really is a shame about that crackpot, though. Maybe another time.
Mom: I don't like to share.

Or there's the time when I sent a text meant for the hubs to my mother:

Me: I miss you, lovekins!
Mom: Are you on drugs this morning?
Me: Apparently.

And that's why I shouldn't text anymore...

Whoops

It has come to my attention that I apparently the name of my blog
[Run Faster Mommy]
is attached to another web page. 

My bad.

So, in light of this new knowledge

I will be taking the next little bit  to redesign my blog.

Again.

So, pardon the mess.

I'll see you soon!

Child Posession: The More You Know

I'd like to preface this post by saying that my daughter is wonderful and I love her.

However, lately her "moments" have become more and more frequent. She's screaming like a banshee, cries when she's put down, and is biting me when I try to breastfeed her. Granted, she can't technically bite since she has no teeth. But, still, it hurts. What's more, she thinks it's funny. 

After asking her during one of Alexa's checkups, the nurse told me that if she begins to bite me whilst breastfeeding, I am to pull her away and firmly say, "NO." 

When I do that, she laughs.

I am not joking.

So what do I do about it?

Well, first, I got annoyed. But, honestly, how can you stay annoyed at something this adorable?

So, then I tried threats of withdrawal. "If you keep biting me, you'll never eat again."

Not so effective. 

So, I've folded like a napkin and simply given her a bottle if she does it. I just don't care anymore. I'm too tired and my boobs hurt. Sue me.

Daddy is still on the East Coast. Perhaps she's acting out because she'd rather look at him for twenty days in a row. If the doctor told me that was the reason, I'd believe it. 

Anyway, I have an appointment tomorrow to have her skin checked out because it's all bumpy and dry and I think it's eczema. Poor thing. In the meantime I bought some super special lotion and have been slathering that all over her every chance I get. She'll either become very soft, or very sticky. I don't care either way as long as her skin clears up.

13 "Secrets"

Well, considering I haven't had many readers lately, I figure this is as good a time as any to divulge my "secrets" to you. 

1. I've been known to dodge a phone call if the song on the radio is a good one.

2. High school wouldn't have sucked so much if it had any resemblance to what the portray in movies.

3. When I was a flattycakes, I never used to understand why well endowed women hated their boobs so much. Now I know.

4. Since I had Alexa, I cry at everything. I am not joking. Yesterday, I cried during Cars. It was just so nice when Lightening McQueen helped everybody in Radiator Springs... *sniff*
5. I still can't swim because of a traumatic experience I had when I was seven.
6. Unless I'm on a treadmill or something, I cannot work out if someone is watching me. It makes me feel five times heavier and ten times dumber.
7. I'm pretty sure that I could watch "10 Things I Hate About You" every day for the rest of my life and be completely okay with it.
8. I cannot stand the song "Silent Night." After singing it 10 times a night for three nights in a row during a high school Christmas program, I can go the rest of my life without hearing it ever again.
9. I want to go to school and expand my intelligence. But, once I get there, I immediately stop caring.
10. I love shopping for tops. I hate shopping for pants.
11. It's no secret, but I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints [Mormon] and I am extremely proud of it.

12. I'll never admit this to him, but my dad was right. I do regret quitting piano lessons.

13. I love my freckles. I think people are crazy when I hear them talking about covering theirs up. They're so cute!

There you have it. 13 things you now know about me that you didn't really care about in the first place. To those of you who still actually frequent my blog, don't forget to say hello so I know you're there!

Happy Sunday!

Book Reviews and Slang Envy

I've discovered something, recently. Foreigners are a lot funnier than Americans. Specifically the British and the Irish. 

For instance, this book: 

This book became one of my favorites while I was only halfway through. It's written as a series of notes, letters or emails between Rosie Dunne and Alex Stewart. It begins with them in first grade and goes all the way to fifty years old. They are best friends and bad influences on each other. In a word: perfection. The Irish wording and all-around wit had me in tears. I recommend this book to anyone with even the smallest sense of humor. 

Then there's this one: 

This is the first in a series of eight books. Honestly, when I'm perusing the library for a good read, if the title is funny, it's as good as checked out. It uses terms like "fabbity fab", "double cool with knobs on" and "nunga nungas." Why on earth do the Brits get such hilarious slang? At any rate, this book follows the day-to-day life of Georgia Nicholson, a 14-year-old girl who has stone aged parents, great friends, a drag-wearing cat, and who is ultimately aiming to make the Sex God Robbie her boyfriend.  It had me snorting with laughter the entire time and I'm extremely grateful that I chose to read it within the confines of my own room.There's even a glossary in the back to explain their wildly amusing terms. Some especially noteworthy phrases are:

Blimey O’Reilly
(as in Blimey O’Reilly’s trousers) This is an Irish expression of disbelief and shock. Maybe Blimey O’Reilly was a famous Irish bloke who had extravagantly big trousers. We may never know the truth. The fact is, whoever he is, what you need to know is that a) it’s Irish and b) it is Irish. I rest my case.

Boy Entrancers
False eyelashes. Boys are ALWAYS entranced when you wear them. This is a FACT . . . unless of course they get stuck together and then boys think you are mad and blind and not entrancing at all.

Bum-oley
quite literally bottom hole. I’m sorry but you did ask. Say it proudly (with a cheery smile and a Spanish accent).

Conk
Nose. This is very interesting historically. A very long time ago (1066)—even before my grandad was born—a bloke called William the Conqueror (French) came to England and shot our King Harold in the eye. Typical. And people wonder why we don’t like the French much. Anyway William had a big nose and so to get our own back we call him William the Big Conk-erer. If you see what I mean. I hope you do because I am exhausting myself with my hilariosity and historiosity.

Double cool with knobs
“double” and “with knobs” are instead of saying very or very, very, very, very. You’d feel silly saying, “He was very, very, very, very, very cool.” Also everyone would have fallen asleep before you had finished your sentence. So “double cool with knobs) is altogether snappier.

Full-frontal snogging
Kissing with all the trimmings, lip to lip, open mouth, tongues . . . everything (Apart from dribble, which is never acceptable.)

Have the painters in
An expression to indicate that a girl is . . . er . . . having her . . . you know whats. Oh, come on, you do know. Having her . . . er . . . well to put it plainly . . . her . . . well that the “red flag is flying,” that her “little friend has come to visit.” Period. Menstruation. Menses. Women trouble. Trouble at the mill. I can’t go on with this; it is making me tired.

Nuddy-pants
Quite literally nude-colored pants, and you know what nude-colored pants are? They are no pants. So if you are in your nuddy-pants you are in your no pants, i.e., you are naked.

Nunga-nungas
Basoomas. Girl’s breasty business. Ellen’s brother calls them nunga-nungas because he says that if you get hold of a girl’s breast and pull it out and then let it go—it goes nunga-nunga-nunga. As I have said many, many times with great wisdomosity, there is something really wrong with boys.

...Okay, that's enough.

Aren't you glad I read these books so that I could tell you all about what your life was missing? Of course you are. What are some books that have made you laugh out loud in public places?

Let Me Hear You SCREAM!

Okay. I'm awful. Blogging is stinking HARD with a baby. Sue me. But I'll have a bit of help for a little while, now.

For an indefinite amount of time, Nick will be on the East Coast helping with the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy. He left this morning. So, because I didn't feel like being all by myself for who knows how long, I decided to drive two hours west to stay with my parents until he returns. 

It was a surprisingly tearful goodbye. On my part, anyway. I had really hoped that his last image of me wouldn't be a snotty, teary mess. But, alas. I have the worst timing.

At any rate, he could be gone anywhere from a week to a month or more. Last year there was a massive flood in Minot, North Dakota, and people from his company were gone for five months. Hopefully they'll take into account that he has a family waiting for him at home and let him come home relatively soon.

As far as baby stories go, she is growing like a weed. Of course, my mom is stoked that we're invading her house because that means she gets infinite playtime. Which, honestly, is totally fine with me. I mean, come on. I'm tired. I haven't slept in three and a half months. Not really, anyway. For instance, last night was the first time she slept the whole time. I, of course, woke up at her usual 2 AM for about a half hour before I could finally coax myself back to sleep. 

Guess what else? She's learned to scream. And I don't mean seriously intense crying. I mean screaming. Full out, the-sky-is-falling, zombies-are-attacking-the-city screaming. And she'll do it just because she feels like it. There really isn't a particular reason. This morning she was screaming because apparently my shower was too long and being in her swing was no longer acceptable. Needless to say, it wasn't a very relaxing shower experience. 

At any rate, I've got one weird, adorable, hilarious and needy baby. Oh, well. I'm going to look at this positively. At least I know she wants me around. 

Motivation Mondays

It would seem that I'm not off to a very good start with my Motivation Mondays. This past week, I had one nasty cold and my allergies were kicking my butt. Consequently, I hardly worked out. 

With the weather getting cold so rapidly here in Minnesota, I'm not sure that I want to go running outside with a two month old baby. Soooo, I'm going to make a slight alteration to my plan. Instead of running, I'll do TurboFire on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I'll continue to do Jillian Michaels' "Ripped in 30" on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Granted, I'll allow myself some wiggle room considering I can only work out during Alexa's nap time, and that ranges anywhere from 20 minutes to 4 hours. 

Anyway, I'm sorry that I don't have much in the line of updates for you today. But, I'm feeling much better and I'll spend this week kicking butt and taking names. 

Happy Monday!

Through the Eyes of a Child

My baby is getting huge. I don't mean that in the typical pinch-your-cheeks-oh-my-you're-getting-so-big fashion. I mean, literally. She's huge. At her 2 month checkup she weighed 12 pounds 4 ounces and was 24 inches long. Now, for those of you who know me, I'm not quite 5 feet tall. So... yeah. She's almost half my height at 2 months old. I'll let myself out...

Here we are now, and she's almost THREE months old. What is this lunacy?! She's laughing and babbling and trying so hard to roll over. She's drooling buckets and has decided that lying on the floor is for babies, whereas she's a big girl and, therefore, must sit upright.

I never knew that a baby could be so hysterically funny. I never knew that so much milk could be spit up at once. I never knew that seeing her smile at me would make my entire day so much better. 

What is it about our children that makes us want to rip our hair out and kiss them at the same time? How can we be so aggravated at them one minute, and want to shield them from ever getting hurt the next? Children are so beautifully innocent. I think, as adults, we forget that life isn't meant to be complicated. We get the notion that things should be a certain way, and become upset to the point of ruining relationships if they don't. You'll never see a child do that. To them, life is simple. They don't know how to hold grudges. They don't know how to feel superior. They don't know how to not be friends. 

Since having Alexa, I often find myself taking a step back from my life and asking myself, "Would the 4-year-old me like who I've become?" If the answer is no, it's time to change something. 

Happy Thursday!

Orange You Glad?

Naturally, I'm a blonde. I've never dyed my hair fully. I've only ever highlighted it. Why? Because I love my blonde hair. It looks good on me, and that's the color that I'm used to. 

Now, que pregnancy. Those dang hormones turned my hair an icky, dirty brown. It's not even a cute brown. It honestly looks like my hair needs to be washed CONSTANTLY. So, what do I do? I dye it. I get a box of blonde coloring and carve out an hour of my life to perk my hair up again. 

After applying the color the best I can, I have to sit around for 25 minutes while I unintentionally get high from the fumes. Ding! Time to rinse! Scrub scrub. Wash wash. Holycowitsorange.

That's right, my friends. Brown hair doesn't dye blonde very well. It turns a wonderful shade of coppery orange. I. Am. Stylin'. 

Granted, it's not my whole head. But my roots are now extremely noticeable. Seriously. I see you eyeing my scalp as you talk to me. Just ignore it. 

But wait! Here's the best part! I can't go to the salon to fix it while I have my baby with me. I honestly had no idea. Apparently if I have to pick her up at all, the colorist will stop and I'll look like Cruella DeVille. Now, my mother lives two hours this way. Nick's mother lives one hour that way. And everyone else I know around here either already has kids or lives too far away to warrant driving out there. Translation: I'm stuck like this until next weekend.

At least Alexa still recognizes me. 

The Stretch Mark Saga

Wow. I stink at blogging since Alexa's been born. Oops. My life has been going at 7000 miles an hour that I can hardly find time to sleep, much less blog. I have my priorities, I hope you don't mind. 

Okay, well, for the past month I've had the green light to work out the way I did before I got pregnant. Yay right? Wrong. I really took for granted how strong I was and how much endurance I had. Push-ups were no big deal. Reverse crunches? Easy cheesy. Wanna run three miles? It's chill.

As of late, I'm in the worst shape of my life. I have never been more self-conscious than I am right now. I had gained 60 pounds during my pregnancy, and a ton of the weight came off simply by breastfeeding. That stopped about a month ago. Now, I need to lose 30 pounds to get to my goal weight (that's 10 less than my pre-pregnancy weight) and it's HARD. I've been running. I've been weight lifting. I've been doing Turbo Fire out the wazoo. Visibly, I see no difference except in my legs. Insert sad face here.

Now, it's always been easier for me to tone up my legs because I've been running my entire life. There's a muscle memory there. However, I've never ever had a decent tummy. For as long as I can remember, I've always wanted a stomach that stayed flat even when I sat. So far, no dice.

So, here's my solution: 

To take the place of my Maternity Monday segment, I'll be doing a Motivation Monday to tell you how I did the previous week. Since I'm still in pretty lousy shape, I'll start off with a smaller goal of running three to four miles a week. I'll also alternate between doing Turbo Fire videos and Jillian Michaels' "Ripped in 30" to get more cardio and strength training as well. By the end of this, I want to be able to:

1. Fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans.
2. Tone my tummy.
3. Run an entire 5k without stopping.

Whaddya think? Will you help me? Keep me accountable! Yell at me if I don't post and help me to stay motivated to achieve these goals. 

Thanks guys! I promise I'll be way better at blogging from now on. 

Happy Thursday!

Young and Restless Hops and Babies

First and foremost, I want to apologize to the people who actually care that I haven't posted in three weeks. Like I said in my last post, babies are quite the time suck. And I know that there are plenty of moms out there with a gajillion kids running around and THEY still find time to blog thankyouverymuch, but be patient with me. I'm still trying to figure out what's going on.

Seriously, if I want to eat something, I have to plan ahead. I no longer have the luxury of thinking, "Oh, I'm hungry" and then immediately waltz into the kitchen for food. Lately, if I put the baby down for longer than ten minutes, she has an honest-to-goodness meltdown. Which leaves me enough time to cook my meal, but not enough time to eat it. I swear, this child has a Spidey Sense of when I plan on eating. She could be in a dead sleep and as soon as I sit down to eat... BOOM. Crying. But it's not the "waah" kind of crying. Oh no. It's more like, "OHMAHGAHMOMMYHELPMEI'MDYING" cry. The neighbors probably think I'm cutting her skin off. 

Alexa has recently learned that the longer she stays awake, the sillier mommy gets. It's a vicious cycle. First, I'll rock her tirelessly. Then, I'll swing her. Then, I'll plead with her. Then, I'll cry. But, when she finally DOES fall asleep, I've discovered that sneaking out of her nursery is like trying to diffuse a bomb. Seriously. ONE noise will wake her up. However, that's only in the first ten minutes of her nap. If she decides to sleep for four hours, like she normally does, it's nearly impossible to wake her up. I can tickle her, poke her face, blow raspberries on her tummy... nothing. She'll flail about for a second, but then she'll go right back to sleep. It's infuriating. She sleeps when I want her awake, and is awake when I want her to sleep. 

...Unless daddy's at home.

Oh, that's another story altogether. Let's just say that she'll sleep so that he can play video games, but won't give me ten minutes to shower.

Snot.

ANYWAY. Guess what? I've been chosen to be the lovely Christa's co-host for her Restless Blog Hop. This hop is super popular and is an awesome way to meet new bloggers and also get more followers. The rules are:

1. You MUST follow Christa via the button below.
2. You MUST follow the co-host for that week. (That's me!)
3. You MUST leave a comment on my blog or Christa's.
4. You MUST place the Hop button somewhere on your post.

That's it! Simple, right? You'd be surprised how many people neglect to comment, though. So, first, follow Christa:

Second, follow me: 

<center> <a href="http://iturnedforpeace.blogspot.com" target="_blank"><img alt="Run Faster Mommy" src="http://i1248.photobucket.com/albums/hh484/heymishmish/cryingbaby.png"/></a></center>

Third, use the Hop button: 

<center> <a href="http://christanncox.blogspot.com" target="_blank"><img alt="young and restless" src="http://i239.photobucket.com/albums/ff281/chrissyann336/Faerie_Wings.jpg" /></a></center>

Lastly, comment and LINK UP!

Happy Hopping!

...And I Shall Call Her Mini Me

Most husbands will never understand the goings on between a mother and child while they are at work. I say this because every night when Nick gets home, the baby is cool, calm and collected, and he can't fathom why I'm so strung out.

"What's the matter? She's not even crying."

"Not NOW she isn't. She would only nap if I was holding her, and if I happened to leave the room she'd have a nervous breakdown."

"Aw, that's cute."

"Yes. It's so cute that she hasn't let me shower in two days..."

But, really. It's not that way every day. But there are days when she only sleeps when I'm holding her and has what can only be described as Vietnam Flashbacks if I happen to leave her line of vision. However, when I finally get her to stop fighting naptime and see her little angel face sleeping, all of the frustration melts away.

I'm to the point now that I don't need to sleep whenever she sleeps anymore. Now, I look forward to naptime so that I can get things done. Like showering. Or eating. I haven't quite gotten the green light from my doctor to begin any kind of exercise regimen other than a leisurely walk with the stroller. Frankly, I've been too afraid to do any kind of lifting or twisting, anyway. The C-Section was my first surgery ever, and I'm a bit paranoid that my intenstines will come gushing out at any moment. Granted, I'm not following "the rules" 100%. I was told not to climb stairs for four to six weeks. Um. Right. Nursery is upstairs. Food is downstairs. I'll take my chances with the stairs. Besides, they aren't NEARLY as difficult to climb now that I'm no longer pregnant. Today, I actually climbed the stairs two at a time. But, to be fair, it was only because they're hideously squeaky and I had JUST gotten Alexa to sleep. Sue me.

Has anyone ever told you that you look just like your parents? Well, check this out...





This poor kid is going to look just like me. Even my mother was a little freaked out when she saw the baby for the first time. I mean, I figured she'd have some features that resembled mine, but I certainly didn't think I'd have a clone. How horrifying. My mom had always threatened that I'd have a child just like me...

Anyway, I apologize for the lack of humor and consistency in my posts. Babies really are a time suck.

Happy Thursday!

Knights of the Kiddie Table

As I sit down to write this, my daughter is in her little swing next to me sleeping the day away. Lucky duck. Despite the fact that I'm exhausted, I still haven't managed to perfect the art of falling asleep at the drop of a hat. Hopefully I'll learn soon, otherwise I'll simply pass out. Either way, I'll sleep eventually.

Oh, perfect. She just loaded up her pants. That will be fun for me later. You see, I say "later" because she's not an all-at-once-r. No, she likes to make a mess in her diaper in strategically planned intervals. Just when I think she's finished and I go to change her... WHAM. Pee everywhere.  Luckily for me, I figured her little scheme out before I changed a poopy one. 

But, seriously, Alexa has been wonderful as far as infants go. Yeah, she wakes up in the middle of the night wanting food, but what baby doesn't? She's actually a pretty mellow kid. I am extremely lucky. Sure, my body needs a little extra sleep to heal up from a major surgery, but I'm dealing.

I've noticed that there is this unspoken mom club that you join once you have your first kid. Moms everywhere will rally together to give you advice or share little secrets with you. Sometimes, yes, they overstep their bounds, but most of the time it's all in the name of learning and coping. Facebook has become one of my biggest ally's. Got a problem? Post a status asking all the moms out there what they would do. Check back in ten minutes. Twelve responses. Perfect!

So, this post is to thank all the moms out there who have graciously accepted me as a fellow Knight of the Kiddie Table. Thanks for saying how adorable my baby is. (I know.) Thanks for all your advice. (Most of it has worked perfectly.) And, lastly, thanks for remembering what it was like to be a new, scared and completely lost mommy. 

And now, without further adieu, here's some pictures of my awesomely cute baby.

Happy Wednesday!

Oh, P.S., The doctor told me today that we don't have to wake her up in the middle of the night for her to eat anymore because she's gained 10 ounces in a week! Holy poop! I mean, I knew that she had been eating a lot, but wow! I'm glad she can't exactly understand me yet, because during her many feedings I'll change the words to the Hungry Hungry Hippos jingle to Hungry Hungry Babies. Tee-hee.

Okay, bye for realz.

Alexa's Birth Story

She's here! She's here! She's FINALLY here!

So, at 7:30 pm on Tuesday, July 10th, my husband and I drove up to the hospital to begin the induction process since she refused to come naturally. I got into my room, into their gown, and simply had to wait out the night after they inserted the Cervadil to help dilate me since I was still a big, fat zero on that scale.

Morning comes, and I'm checked again. 

Nothing.

I was devastated. Completely heartbroken. I had waited so long for my child and I was going to have to go home without her. 

I didn't get out of bed for the rest of the day. I cried more than I thought possible. I pleaded with her to PLEASE come out on her own. Didn't she want to see me? Did she already not like me? Those kinds of thoughts clouded my head for the next three days.

Fast forward to Sunday night. Same tune, different song. Check in, gown up, wait-and-see. However, I didn't have to wait very long this time. About an hour after the Cervadil was inserted, my water broke. YES! That's when the nurse said that most beautiful thing I had ever heard up to that point, 

"You're not leaving here without your baby, now."

Oh, how I cried. 

They wanted to track my natural contractions overnight. So after being harnessed up to one of the most awkward machines ever, I was told to try and sleep. Yeah, right. After about three hours, my contractions stopped completely, and they were forced to begin the Pitocin at 3:00 Monday morning.

Oh, my heavens. If any of you have ever had that injected into your body, you have my immediate respect. To say the contractions they produced were hellish would be a gross understatement. By the time they came in eight hours later to give me the epidural, I was screaming. My sweet husband kept saying over and over how much he wished he could take the pain from me and do it himself. He absolutely hated seeing me like that. 

After the epidural was in place, life was SO much better. I actually managed to get some sleep. But, by 3:00 in the afternoon, the pain was back with a vengeance. I was dilated to a 7 by this point and even though the awesome anesthetist kept coming back to tweak the medication, nothing really helped for very long. By the time I was dilated to a 9, I had been in labor for 17 of the longest hours of my life. When Dr. Jerkhole came in to check my cervix for the last time, I was told that the baby was too big and that I would be having her via C-Section. 

Uhm. Excuse me?

Does anyone remember this post? Yeah. At that doctor's appointment, he said that every mother felt like her baby would be too big to deliver and that he was, under no circumstances, going to perform an ultrasound on me unless there was a medical reason to.

So, when the doctor said that I'd be getting the surgery, I looked him right in the eye, gritted through another heinous contraction and said,

"I told you I'd need a C-Section five weeks ago. I told you she would be too big for me. You would have been able to tell if you had just done the ultrasound like I asked you to."

He said nothing.

Nick was told to scrub up, and I was prepped for surgery. I tell you, the preparation took longer than the surgery itself. My arms were strapped down, I was numbed up, and surgery began at 5:17. At 5:23, my daughter was born. I was told to look to my right, and there she was. The first words that escaped my lips were, 

"She's real! Nick, she's real!"

Nick went with the baby to clean her up, and I was left to be stitched up. Bob, a sweet, older gentleman who was also the anesthetist, held my hand while they finished up because I could not stop shaking during the entire procedure. I felt horrible when I threw up on him. 

Two hours later they finally brought me back upstairs where Alexa, Nick and his entire family were waiting. I was gingerly placed in my hospital bed and Nick finally put my baby in my arms for the first time. I couldn't help it, I cried so hard. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and she was mine. I fell in love instantly.

We have been home for two days now, and I still cry at everything because my stupid hormones are coming down. My angel of a mother has stayed with me since I was released from the hospital and she has been a tremendous blessing. She's made wonderful meals, purchased food for us and just watched over my baby so that I could sleep. Even though I'm unnaturally emotional right now, I still think I'd cry because of all that she's done for me.

Alexa is an angel and I love her more than I thought possible. I still burst into tears whenever I stop and stare at her because she is, honestly, the most gorgeous thing I have ever laid my eyes on. Sleep is such a burden to me because all I want to do is snuggle her forever. I get anxious when she's not in the room with me. I hurt when she cries. She is such a mellow and sweet baby. Nick and I are very, very lucky.

I am terrified that I'm going to wake up and be 15 weeks pregnant again. So, every night before I go to sleep, I try to memorize every part of her. I cannot wait to be back to physical working order so that I can lie on the floor next to her, or pick her up without pain. 

Sorry if this post is way too sappy for your liking. Firstly, I don't care. And secondly, it's hard to be sarcastic or witty on three hours of sleep. 

Thank you all for your support throughout my pregnancy. I would have lost my sanity without you!

Maternity Mon....Oh, whatever.

Yes. I'm still pregnant. Lucky, lucky me.

My due date was on Saturday, and, lo and behold, I'm still a beached whale. I'm scheduled to go into the hospital tomorrow night, get some meds to help me dilate and begin the induction process on Thursday morning. If, for whatever reason, the Oxytocin doesn't work and I'm sent home without my baby, I'll be one hot mess. If that's the case, I'll go BACK to the hospital on Sunday night and they'll try the whole process again. The goal, according to the doctor, is to not push me into needing a C-Section. But, at this point, I really don't care. I'm about ready to give myself a C-Section, for crying out loud. 

At any rate, this will be the last post I write until I'm an official mama. Wish me luck tomorrow!

One Year and a Day Ago...

The 4th of July will always have a special place in my heart. Not only is it my favorite holiday EVER, but this one marks one year from the day that Nick asked me to marry him. 

He was planning on proposing in May, originally. He had this big, elaborate "Date Day" set up. He even went through the trouble of ordering a custom made invitation and mailing it to my house. When I opened the invitation, my thoughts immediately went to, "OMGrapefruit, he's proposing." I even asked his seven year old  sister if that's what he was doing.

"YEAH!" She said.

Sweet!

So, along comes Date Day. We did SO much stuff. We started out by volunteering at the hospital. Seriously. It was really a cool experience. Then, we had lunch and went to see "Kung Fu Panda 2". Afterwards, he took me back to his apartment and taught me how to make tortillas. (He lived in Mexico for two years.) THAT was an experience. We also cooked chicken (which splattered grease all over my arms and I had "battle wounds" for two months), prepared a seriously pretty salad and even made Flan. Yum. At the end of everything, he took me home, kissed me goodnight and left. 

Wait, what?

He never proposed?!

His sister is SUCH a liar.

As it turns out, he didn't have the ring yet. Because he was having it custom made for me by his cousin in Virginia, it wasn't quite finished by the deadline Nick had set. 

"Oh, well," he thought. "This will throw her off my scent, anyway."

It certainly did.

Fast forward to July 2nd. It was a Saturday and I was really looking forward to watching the fireworks with him the following Monday. 

Of course, autocorrect had other plans...

Anyway, we did NOT go pooping that day. Instead, he took me to a waterfall in his hometown.

Now, I wasn't aware that we'd be off-roading that day, so I wore some very unsteady flip flops. When I saw that he was leading me PAST the railing and onto the rocks leading directly to the falls, I had a minor freak out. He was very patient with me and held my hand the entire way so I wouldn't fall to my death.

Anyway, when we got to the rock that I've circled in the picture above, he told me to close my eyes. 

"Right, okay," I thought. "So when I open my eyes, he'll be on one knee. YAY!"

I was wrong again.

He slid a card into my hands and told me to read it.

He had actually written his proposal out in a card so that I could have it forever and read it over and over again. I, of course, cried my eyes out. While I was reading, he had gotten the ring out of his pocket and was kneeling in front of me. I yelled out, "OF COURSE!" and just about tackled him off the rock in an attempt to hug and kiss him. 

Unbeknownst to us, while all of this was happening, we were getting an audience at the lookout. So, when I kissed him, we heard, "WOOOOOOOO!!!!" That was pretty much the icing on the cake for him and he was pretty proud of himself. And why not? He was a total stud that day.

So, now you know. I love the 4th of July more than any other holiday.

How was your 4th?

P.S. I guess my Tuesday's Confessions was kind of a bust. Let's just forget all about that, shall we? Deal.