Early Pregnancy Again

February 1, 2011

Five weeks and counting.  I have a ticker for my pregnancy-obsessing buddy group on Taking Charge of Your Fertility .  Those pregnancy tickers they have on sites like Baby-Gaga and Pregnology and 500 other baby/pregnancy themed websites make me obsess about every day of the pregnancy.  Every day I look at my ticker and I see "I am 5 weeks and 3 days pregnant.  Only 242 days to go".  Then I see the little blob that is looking more and more like a teeny little human being - right now s/he has flippers.  FLIPPERS!  At FIVE WEEKS!



I like this one from Baby-Gaga.  I like that it injects humor into the process.  Right now, it says "Even though I'm only 3.5mm big, my brain is growing fast & I already have more brain cells than Paris Hilton.  I'm 5 weeks & 3 days old, only 242 days to go!  By the time this posts some time in March, it will be saying something about wondering if I have a hotdog or a hamburger.  Referring humorously to the fact that on an ultrasound girlie parts look like little hamburgers and boy parts look like hot dogs.  You can, of course get the straight developmental facts in the tickers.  But you can get the week-by-week development anywhere!  Give me the funny!

Because nothing feels funny right now.  I want to cry most of the time.  Lucy doing something cute makes me cry.  Lucy doing something frustrating makes me cry.  Stories on WTOP News makes me cry.  Baby Signing Time makes me cry.  Car commercials make me cry.  Burned eggs make me cry.  I can't turn around without something making me cry.

Also, I am crabby.  I want to bite everyone's head off.  Everything that comes out of my mouth is mean and snarky and acidic.  And I can't even use the "I'm pregnant, back off" comment.  We haven't told anyone yet, not even our parents.  I want to wait till I hear that heartbeat.  Which won't happen till 10 weeks or so.

Now, let me preface this next section by saying I love and adore my mother. She is wonderful and helpful and proactive and her energy is enviable.  But she drives me nuts sometimes. We haven't told them we are pregnant yet because of wanting to heat the heartbeat first, AND we have a fun surprise. Which I believe is ruined now. My mom and dad were here this weekend while I was away for work (I had a trip Sat-Sun, Kevin had a show last night while I was gone and then left today for his trip before I got home, so we needed coverage for Lucy).  My mom is a maniacal launderer.  She won't stop.  She digs through everything looking for dirty laundry to do while she is here.  That is lovely of her, yes, and it is nice not to have to do laundry. But Kevin doesn't want her to do his laundry (something about his mother-in-law folding his boxers...) and I feel bad having her do my laundry while she is here doing us a huge favor.  Plus I end up having to pick up and refold everything because my mom has some sort of thing against laundry baskets - everything is always stacked about 30 feet high on top of the bed, so it falls over in heaps before I get a chance to put it away. (God I sound ungrateful).  So I have told her as nicely as possible to not do the laundry...which she does anyway. So today I get home and, shockingly, all the laundry is done and stacked on the bed (Kevin's boxers folded neatly).   All of Lucy's laundry is done.  I don't really think anything of it other than to say "Please, Mom, you don't have to do our laundry!".  I go into my office after she has left and notice she has rearranged some things...probably searching for ONE MORE TOWEL to wash (though why it would be in my office, I do not know).  On my desk are all my positive home pregnancy tests.  I say "tests" not "test" because I have been obsessively peeing on things since 9 days past ovulation.  I can't stop peeing on things - just to make sure I am still pregnant.  Anyway, this sad pile of pee-soaked sticks - the proof of my obsession - has been moved...every so slightly.  And on top of Lucy's pile of laundry is the "I'm Going to be a Big Sister" shirt that I was going to wash and stow away until we were ready for the big reveal.  Folded neatly.  See the plan was to take a picture of Lucy wearing the shirt and send it to our family.  Or we were going to dress her in it, bring her over to their house and just wait to see how long it took for them to notice.  She didn't say anything when I got home, but I think she would have to be an idiot not to have put two and two together.  I am hoping she put on her Oblivious Hat and didn't even notice. 
 
If I weren't pregnant, I would be able to shrug this off, but I AM SO IRRITATED.  Or I was 20 minutes ago.  My mood changes with the wind. 

Laughing Horse

I may have mentioned (a dozen times!) that I teach YogaKids classes at a local DC studio.  I teach 2 classes, one for 3-4 year-olds and one for 5-8 year-olds. Often I find I dread teaching these two classes.  It often takes me an hour to get there and an hour and a half to get back (class ends at 5:45 pm - smack-dab in the middle of DC rush hour).  There are usually the same kids every session, so I feel like I am reaching ever deeper into my rapidly emptying bag of tricks to keep them interested.  There is usually the one little girl, whose company I will lovingly call a "challenge" to enjoy.  There are usually 2 or three boys whose company I will lovingly call "impossible" to enjoy.  Then there is the group of three kids (a sister-brother pair and their best friend) who are just lovely...but having been coming to yoga class since they were infants, so they are SO comfortable at the studio.  The tend to take liberties and listen a little less than attentively.

But yesterday was a class that makes it all worthwhile.  In my 5-8 year-old class I had my three musketeers...and that's it.  They are sort of a nightmare when it is just the three of them.  They know all the songs and all the poses and are not shy about whining until I get so irritated that I let them do what they want.

Yesterday I stood my ground.  I had a class planned that I thought was fun and engaging and I was going to teach that class if it was the last damned yoga class I ever taught, and they were going to freaking enjoy it if I had to tie them down and force them to have fun.

We had a many moments of power struggle - all of which I won.  They pout, they whine.  They grumble.  But I still win.  Triumphing over 3 6-year-olds.  My great accomplishment.  So we made our way through class.  They were a little glum and I was a little crabby, but I will take glum over crazy day.

Then we came to the Rocking Horse Pose (Dhanurasana which is the Upward Bow or Floor Bow Pose).  

Now I have a problem.  When I do floor poses on my stomach, I laugh.  I can't help it.  I get the giggles and they don't stop.  So I get into Floor Bow and I start giggling.  Then they start giggling.  We are all giggling madly, insanely, gleefully.  It is wonderful.  The rest of class is just a dream.  The kids give me hugs before they leave.  I go home still high on joy and laughter.

It reminds me that sometime my yoga practice isn't doing poses or breathing.  It is learning to be patient and sharing the joy of life with my students.  It is letting the laughter out when it needs to come out.  It is being joyful and loving even when the situation feels less than ideal for being joyful and loving.  This is why I became a teacher.

The Power of Belief

My husband is not a religious man.  But he believes in Drano.

This steadfast faith in a thick, toxic, foul smelling liquid completely confounds me.  We have used Drano on every drain in our house at one point or another.  Bottles of the stuff.  Buckets of the stuff.  Extra strength, Super Extra Strength, Professional Strength, Divine Strength.  I believe the crabs in the Chesapeake Bay are dying because of our inability to keep our drains clear.  When the tub was draining slowly, Drano.  The tub still drained slowly.  When the bathroom sink was draining slowly, Drano.  The sink still drained slowly.  Recently, we paid a plumber $500 to come snake two of our drains - this was AFTER the sacred liquid was poured out for our sins of having hair that detaches from our head and putting egg shells down the garbage disposal (which I will NEVER do again, so help me Drano!).

Last weekend, my devout Dranoite was headed away for the weekend to Vermont for work.  Our bathroom sink had been draining very slowly for a few days, and getting worse by the hour.  I am not sure how hair gets down THIS drain (since I don't generally wash my hair in the sink), but if the plumber had snaked this drain, I am sure he would have found hair.  Maybe the sink actually grown its own hair to clog the drains when we are failing at the task.

Anyway, I digress.

The evening before he left, Kevin comes out of our bathroom with an empty bottle of Drano and says, with an air of confident purposefulness "The sink has been Drano-ed."  My gut reaction was to say "Oh, thank GOODNESS!  I'll call the plumber tomorrow."  But I believe in the right of every person to practice their own religion without fear of persecution - not matter how ridiculous I think it is -  and Kevin doesn't mock my faith, so I won't mock his.

Anyway,  that evening I notice that the sink is indeed running a little better.  I think "This is a first!".  Now, this sink isn't running well, mind you, just better than it had been.  But better is better and I forget all about it until the morning when I am washing my face.  Apparently the "better" drainage I noticed the night before applied only to when you had the water running for 3 seconds or less.  Not so much when the water was on for a shocking 15 seconds.  I leave the sink full of water and got in the shower.  And I now the shower is no longer draining.  I am ankle deep in water after 3 or four minutes.  Perhaps the Drano pushed the clog from the sink part of the pipes into the shared shower part of the pipes and was now clogging the shower AND the sink drain.  I roll my eyes and start composing this blog post in my mind, ready to skewer my silly husband for his faith in this stupid, stinky, evil Drano crap.

And then, a miracle.  In the space of about 10 seconds, I hear a loud gurgle and all the water in the sink drains out, and the water in the shower quickly follows suit.  I am agog.  Aghast.  It was like Drano sensed my scorn and doubt and had to prove that Kevin's devoutness was justified.  So while I am not a convert, I have a deeper respect for my husband's abiding faith in the power of Drano.

The sink and the shower have been running like a dream ever since.  I don't believe that I will never shed another hair down the drain, or that our drains will stay clear forever, but I am ready to concede this one to Kevin.  I have often wished Kevin would find comfort in a faith in something bigger than himself and this crazy world we live in.  I had hoped that it would be something more like...say, God or Buddha or Life or the Benevolent Universe.  But if he has found his faith in Drano, so be it.

Amen.

Early Early Pregnancy

I am not going to publish this till March...but I wanted to start a series on my early pregnancy with Baby Corbett II.

So yeah, as indicated by the obsessive peeing I have done (see above picture) I'm pregnant again!  I add an exclamation point to show I am excited, because my tone here is not one of excitement yet.  I am tired.  Bone tired.  I forgot how early this set in.  I can barely keep my eyes open, but if I lay down to rest, I can't seem to fall asleep.  Or at least not in the time frame allotted to me for sleeping by Lucy.  I am having this sinking feeling that pregnancy the second time around is going to be a lot harder than the first time.  I am due sometime in late September/early October of this year.

Here are something I have been thinking of on this, January 23, 2011:

What in GOD'S NAME WERE YOU THINKING??  Do you REMEMBER how awful it was at the beginning?  No sleep, cracked and bleeding nipples, screaming baby.  Clearly not, or I wouldn't have done this to myself again.

I hope we have another girl.  Mostly so we don't have to buy more clothes.

How long to I have to wait to tell people?

I am tired.

Is this cramping normal?

Will I get sciatica again?

Please God, don't let it be twins.

We have a lot of work to get done to get ready for this one.  We have to clean out the utility room so we can have some storage for stuff that is in my office and in the downstairs closet so we can have some storage for what's in Kevin's office so we can combine my office with Kevin's so we can move Lucy to the bigger bed room because it only seems fair that the big girl get the big room because when they are teenagers I want to be able to say Lucy has a bigger room because she was here first and I don't want to try to explain to Lucy why her little sister/brother got the bigger, nicer room.  Over thinking? Maybe.  Also, the nursery is closer to our room, making it easier for me to get up 30 times a night.

God I hope I get a better sleeper this time.

The end.  I have to take a nap.  Or try to take one, anyway.

Things Don't Want to Forget #2

Lucy says "Oof oof" when you ask her what a dog says.

This is also what she calls a dog.

When Lucy says "hair" is sounds like "HEEEair".

When she says "bear" it sounds like "BEEEair".

We took a walk around the block yesterday and she plowed forward, unsteady but giddy at being "asside" (translation: "outside"), saying "WALK WALK WALK WALK WALK!!" the whole time.

When she dances, Lucy will crook both arms out to the side and bend at the hips with her butt cocked to one side and sort of bounce up and down.  If I can ever get her to do it when I have a video camera, I will post it!  It is so funny!

She is currently into chewing on the noses of all her stuffed animals.

She called Cookie Monster "Elmo".

She calls any unidentifiable animal "Elmo".

She once patted my boob with nursing and called it "Elmo".

We were in the car yesterday waiting to get my emissions inspected.  Lucy was in the back seat playing with her stuffed Cookie Monster toy.  She was saying "Elmo.  El-MO.  ELLLLLmo!  ELLLLLMOOOOOOOOO!  Elmo. ELLLL-mo."  Over and over for about 20 minutes.  Then I heard the toy fall on the floor.  Silence...then very quietly: "Elmo?

Lucy loves Elmo.

She has started whispering.  Now occasionally I hear her whispering to herself "Baby sign...baby sign...Elmo...baby siiiiiiiiiiiiign."

Lucy crawls in her sleep.  For various reasons, we ended up co-sleeping when we were at my parents house for Christmas.  She nearly crawled off the end of the bed in the middle of the night.  She also talks in her sleep and is a very restless sleeper.  While it is cute, it is not conducive to a good night's sleep for me.

She is really ticklish.

Her laugh is like music to me.

Having aToddler is Like Having a Drunk Roommate

"Having a toddler is like having a drunk roommate."  My brother told me this recently as he watched my new walker lurch from one part of his house to another.  The more I watch her, the more I realize this is true:

Lucy lurches to the chair "Dude, this chair looks GREAT!"  She falls over "Whoa!  What happened?"  She pees in her pants.  She belches loudly.  She loudly insist on eating.  She spits up after eating.  She falls asleep randomly.  She gets pissed off if someone tries to stop her from doing something clearly irrational.  Occasionally, she falls over in such as way that it looks like someone pulled the (non-existent) rug out from under her feet (I LOVE that - it is so funny!).  She does inappropriate things like put her hands down her pants and says "BUTTS!"

Yes, having a toddler is very much like having a drunken frat boy living in your house.  Except she smells better...most of the time, anyway.  Now I am learning that having an early talker is like having a drunken, foul-mouthed sailor in my house.  Every other word that comes out of her mouth is a swear word.

Me:  Lucy, what is this? (pointing at her shirt)
Lucy:  Shit.

Me:  (as we are nursing) Lucy, is it time to switch sides?
Lucy: Shit side.

Me:  That's a clock, Lucy.
Lucy: Cock.

Me:  Lucy, ask nicely.
Lucy:  Ass.

Me:  Lucy, this is a picture.
Lucy:  Bitch. Sure.

Lucy: Whazzat? (this is her go-to question.  She will repeat it ad nauseum regardless of any answer she may or may not receive)
Me:  That's a button.
Lucy:  Butts.

Lucy: Whazzat? (violently smacking her crotch during diaper changes)
Me: That's your bottom.
Lucy:  Butts!

Lucy: Whazzat? (Grabbing her heel)
Me:  That's your heel.
Lucy:  Hell.

Lucy:  Whazzat?
Me:  That's your tooth brush.
Lucy: Titty. (this sounds more like "tee-tee")

Me: Do you want your teddy?
Lucy: Titty.

Lucy: Wadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupizzzat?
Me:  That's a book.
Lucy:  (long pause) Wadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupizzzat?
Me:  That's a book.
Lucy:  (long pause) Wadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupizzzat?
Me:  That's a picture of a fox.
Lucy:  Fucks.

And so on.  Sometimes she does cute things with her words (who am I kidding, it's ALL cute) like split a one syllable word into 2 parts.  Take "Book" for instance (or anything ending with a K).  She'll say "Boot", then wait a second as she gets her mouth in the right position and then say "kkkkkkkk".  But generally, everything she says sounds vaguely inappropriate to be coming out of the mouth of a 16-month-old.

One day a few months ago, in the midst of the airline scare with all the printer-cartridge-bombs on planes from the Middle East, I heard Lucy say "Imam", "Jihad" and "Yemen" in the space of 2 hours.  I seriously considered reporting her to the FBI.  I can see the interrogation now:

FBI Agent: So.  Lucy Corbett.
Lucy: Butts.
FBI Agent:  Ms. Corbett, your mother says you have been spreading jihadist sentiments.
Lucy:  Shits.
FBI Agent:  She says you mentioned a Yemeni Jihad  in the days leading up to the attempted bombings.
Lucy: Boob.
FBI Agent:  I am not sure you understand the seriousness of these accusations.
Lucy:  (long pause) Wadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupwadupizzzat?
FBI Agent:  I don't think you are taking this seriously, Ms. Corbett.
Lucy: Butts!
FBI Agent:  We have ways to make you talk.
Lucy:  Tit. Kkkkkk.
FBI Agent:  That's it, take this kid to holding!
Lucy:  Old.
FBI Agent:  Now you're calling me OLD?  You think you're some crafty little fox, don't you?
Lucy:   Fucks.  You.

Off to Guantanamo with you, babykins! 

Requiem for an Old Friend

On December 10, 2010 Kevin and I got new furniture.  My old couch had been done nigh unto death at Lucy's birthday party by a hoppity, over-zealous four-year-old.  It was time for it to go.  But I felt like I had to compose a eulogy for this couch that has been in my home for almost ten years.  Ten very formative, crazy years.

I call it "my" couch as opposed to "our" couch because it came from my apartment in Takoma Park.  And before that, it came from my apartment in DC I shared with my college boyfriend.  Kevin's couch (from his old apartment in Germantown) is in the mancave, alive and mostly well.  Apparently, I broke the lounger on it a few years ago, but I have no memory of this, so I can't tell what is anyway completely different story.

When I told my friend we were getting new furniture, she said and I quote "But...what about the comfy green couch?"  It was an enduring favorite in my house.  This couch.  Cozy.  Green.  LONG.  Soft and inviting.  Lately a little too soft and inviting, as most people needed a hand to stand up after sitting on it.  More to the point, they were sitting IN the couch.  Here is my history of and eulogy for the comfy green couch.

Another sster, The Pig and CGC, 2007

Comfy Green Couch (along with comfy green loveseat) was purchased at Value City Furniture in Woodbridge (or somewhere in VA). It was sometime in early 2001.  The young couple who bought it had just moved in together in a hip but slightly seedy neighborhood in Washington, DC called Mount Pleasant.  He had moved back to DC after living in Chicago with She (well, not WITH She, but NEAR She, anyway).  She had just moved to DC from Chicago to DC to be with He.  They happily settled into their new apartment.  Comfy Green Couch saw them have crazy parties where people got into fights and brawled in the living room.  Comfy Green Couch had crazy actors crashing on it at all hours of the day and night.  CGC watched as She didn't get into the grad school program she applied to.  CGC saw that He wasn't really doing what he wanted to do.  September 11, 2001 happened.  She came home to find him napping on CGC.  He said "It's okay to cry."  They both realized they weren't right for each other.  CGC saw a long, ugly, drawn-out break-up happen and wondered who's house it would end up in.  He left to go back to school and finish his degree.  She got the couch.

Corbetts, Blanchards and CGC 2006

She moved the CGC into a nice big apartment in Takoma Park where it watched her struggle to get over her long involved relationship with He.  At this apartment, it also witnessed quite a few crazy parties, had a number of hungover party-goers crashed on his comfy greeness.  It witnessed the night She, her sister and 2 of their friends drank a case of wine, listened to Sting records (yes, records on a record player) and passed out on the kitchen floor.  CGC witnessed She decorate her first Christmas tree away from home...and cry the whole time because she had no one to share it with.  This was the genesis of the Christmas Tree Decorating Party that She still hosts every year.

CGC watched as She got a roommate.  NK was the perfect roommate.  She never spilled a drop of her ubiquitous bottle of red wine on CGC, nor did she ever leave anything lying on it that didn't belong there.  NK was cool, clean, laid back, easy to talk to but not nosy, fun.  NK was fun to have around for a summer, then she moved to Paris to teach English.  As far as She knows, NK is still in Paris.  Awesome.

Kali Frodo, Polish Ninja and CGC (AT hikers)

CGC saw as She's youngest sister moved in, stayed, made the place messy, made She's live richer and then left.  CGC saw as She's other sister came and stayed while thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail.  CGC witnessed the overpowering and constant stink of thru-hikers. CGC also witnessed their immense gratitude at access to a shower and soap.  CGC   

CGC saw as a new love came into She's life.  It passively participated in more than his share of romantic romps and passionate interludes.  It watched their relationship grow into something more than the summer fling it started out as.  CGC was there (literally, right THERE) when She told him she thought she was in love with him, and he said it back.  It witnessed them laugh and play and fight and make up and grow into partners.

It was there as they packed up the great little apartment in Takoma Park and the apartment in Germantown to move together to a house in Silver Spring.  It watched them plan their wedding.  CGC was miffed not to get an invite to the wedding, but nevertheless, it hosted She's family admirably at the impromptu, post-wedding party that happened in their house (unbeknownst to the bride and groom).

The Husband was laying on CGC when She came running out of the bathroom with a home pregnancy test saying through happy tears that she was pregnant.  It watched her get big and fat and swollen as they looked for a house to buy.  It was packed up one more time and moved to their nice house in Silver Spring and settled in to end its days in peace.

Sister, Mama, Baby and CGC 2009

It was there while She labored with the baby for more than 50 hours.  It let her snuggle down deep in its comfy pillows to ride out yet another contraction.  It let a nervous almost-new daddy ride out the long long labor in its comforting arms.  It heard the Baby born a few yards away.  It watched Mama struggle to breastfeed, but stick with it in the end.  It tried in its clumsy, couch-like way to comfort her as she cried with exhaustion and frustration in those early weeks.  It held the visitors who came to ooh and aah over the precious new life.  It let Baby and Daddy snuggle up together to let Mama get some sleep.  It watched Baby grow.  It saw her first birthday.  It was killed by an over zealous four-year-old jumping on the its cushions.

They ordered new furniture.  They tried to keep it quiet around CGC, but it knew its useful life was over.  They set it out on the porch the day before the new couch came.  It snowed that night.  It was one of the saddest sights - a loyal, long-suffering couch that watched so many important moments, out in the cold, under a light dusting of snow, watching as the Family put up the Christmas Tree and prepared to celebrate without it.

Thank you Comfy Green Couch.  Every time I see you in pictures, I will have fond memories of your place in my life, and the all times - good and bad and everything in between - that you witnessed.

Sadly, I couldn't find any pictures from before 2006 (I think I had a film camera up until that point)...but there are many many photos of CGC in photo albums...since pretty much every photo take at my home during that time would have been on or around the Comfy Green Couch.