Grumples (because it’s about time)

Lately I’ve been all about the positivity here on this site and all other online areas. For such a long time I was just such a drain on the web…just wah wah wah wah about everything and anything. So much so that I even created the Grumples section on this site. But as my life changed and I (ahem) matured, I tried to make a concerned effort to keep my grumpy ranting to myself, instead focusing on my glass being half full.

But listen, people, I haven’t sleep through the night in MONTHS and the baby isn’t even here yet! So, damnit, I’m grumpy. And maybe if I just get it all out, I will feel better.

A few weeks back Trent took Lucy with him on a Secret Shopping excursion that he was participating in with one of his company’s partners. He had asked how I felt about Lucy’s participation, as this Secret Shopper experience was to take place at a pediatrician’s office (hence, the need for Lu to attend). I told him I wasn’t totally comfortable with it, but if he thought it was a good idea, I’d let him make the call. Note: This was a mistake. I should always make the call. The office apparently didn’t have separate waiting rooms for sick and well patients, and about two days later Lu came down with the WORST COLD EVER. Now, Trent will tell you that this cold could have come from anywhere, preschool, dance class, the playplace at the local Chic-Fil-A….that’s crap. It obviously came from this damn doctor’s office. How do I know? Because THIS IS ALL TRENT’S FAULT AND BECAUSE I SAID SO.

Side-effects of aforementioned cold equal not sleeping, coughing, sneezing, coughing, coughing, sounding like a cat with a hairball, and never-ending whining. Also, Lu wakes up at approximately 3:30 or 4 a.m. every morning coughing and crying. Now, if it was 2 a.m. or earlier, I would just dose her with some nightime cough medicine and send her on her merry way. I am an awesome parent. But as it’s later (earlier?) I can’t give her said medicine because the kid will then be knocked out and won’t get up for school on time. Which means I’m late for work, since I do preschool pick up and drop off. Which means I walk into yet ANOTHER meeting late and pregnant and hungry and grumpy and obviously I’m promoted and given a raise. Or not. More like not.

In order to try and avoid the nightime wake up we have tried the following: Nightime cough medicine before bed, cough suppressent, a humidifier in her room at night, a humidifier with cough reducing vapor stuff, Vicks vapor rub (both on the chest and on the feet like the crazy Internet told me to), a spoonful of honey, ice cold water, sacrificing my soul to satan and just ignoring the coughing until she finally almost chokes herself and throws up in her bed. Again, I am an awesome parent. You can just stop applauding now.

Obviously, the above treatments have not worked, as she keeps ending up in our bed at the same time, coughing her little head off. And by that point in the evening, I have probably already gotten a smashing 3 hours of sleep due to the hourly pee breaks I must take as Taco John performs karate in my stomach. I’m all, “Grasshopper, you need to chillax,” and he’s all “Eff you lady, hi-yaaa!” She lays in our bed, between the two of us, and it goes like this. Coughing fit, begs for water, coughing fit, 5 minutes of quiet, I start to fall asleep, she starts singing, I wake again, she asks for water, she tells me I’m pretty, coughing fit, starts talking about random crap that happened at school, coughing fit. Repeat.

Now, on top of all of that, she wants me to look at her, 2 inches from her face as she coughs. When I roll over with my back to her, she cries, “Mommy, I need you to look at meeeeeee!” And so I roll back over and she coughs in my face.

After about two hours of this, the coughing batteries run out and she falls asleep. As soon as she’s out, she rolls over and snuggles up with Trent, where they both remain until I attempt to wake them as I run out the door to work. After I tell them to get up about eleventy billion times, turn on all the lights, noisily get ready for the day, I finally shake them both and say, “I’m leaving. You figure out how to get to school on your own.” Then they both bounce up, oh no no no, you can’t leave!!! We need you!

At this point I usually bribe Lu to get dressed using jellybeans. Then we fight over what she is going to wear for about 15 minutes. Even though we pick out her outfits the night before and agree on them. Doesn’t matter. It’s always a battle. And she’s tired and sick, so it’s even worse. If it’s not one of three favorite dresses, I’m pretty much screwed. The other day she went to school in sweatpants, jelly sandals and a rhinestone studded thermal t-shirt.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned what an awesome parent I am.

Point being (really? I guess…) today I was talking to Trent’s mom on the phone. She wants to take Lu to her farm for a few days and I was warning her it may not be very fun with Sickly McSickpants coughing all night. She said to me, “Oh I heard. Trent said between you peeing all night and Lucy’s coughing, he isn’t sleeping very well.”

Really?

REALLY??!?!?!?!?!!!

Next time she wakes up coughing, I’m literally going to take her to our bed, place her coughing face right in front of Trent’s and take off for the nearest Holiday Inn. Just try and stop me.

Overscheduled

Hi, I’m in my third trimester and I need to learn how to just STOP ALREADY.

But since I haven’t (won’t? can’t?), there are some things that have been neglected. Like this here blog. Sorry.

This is what I look like today.

7 Months Pregnant with Taco John

Okay, I lied. That is what I looked like on Sunday. When I showered. Today I look a bit more like a grumpy, overweight loon that needs a nap.

This is what Lucy looked like on Sunday.

A Little Bit Excited

She looks like that today, too. It’s kind of her thing.

Her other thing? Being awesomely adorable.

Belly Love

God help me if Taco John is anything like Lu. I don’t know if my heart can stand it. It may just explode from joy.

Practice

Sawyer and Lucy

She’s wanted to hold him since the second she saw him, but I wasn’t ready. As Trent told her while she wildly spun in circles while he slept on the floor next to her, “You can do whatever you want when it’s our baby, but you need to be careful around this one.”

He’s their firstborn. Little, fragile, very new. I remember what that was like. Wanting to be a normal human being, but finding it totally impossible when that little face is right in front of you. Being overwhelmed and ecstatic and joyful and oh so very tired. And wanting the older kids to be a little more gentle, a tiny bit more careful.

But they are a bit more daring then we were. Maybe because they’ve had experience with the children of their friends, or maybe they are just calmer then I was (most likely), but they asked if she wanted to hold him. Her eyes lit up and she looked cautiously over at me. “If it’s okay with them, then it’s okay with me,” I told her.

They were right. She was ready. I am the one who wasn’t ready. My baby is holding a baby. Pretty soon she’ll be holding a baby every day. But can’t she still be my baby too? If she is the big kid, is she still my little girl? When did the baby in this picture, become the big girl in the picture above?

Spooners

And then, just like that, I’m snapped out of it. Jesus, Megan, you’re missing this moment. And where the hell is your camera?!

{Click}

Co-Parenting

Lately I’ve gotten a ton of grief from people regarding Trent and I’s inability to come up with a name for Taco John. The most famous question is, “So, what names are on your list?” And the truth is, we don’t have a list. We’ve never had a list. While most of my friends that are married with kids talked with their significant others before they wed about baby names, 401K plans, future living plans, etc., Trent and I never really had that conversation. I mean, for us, it all just kind of happened. It was pure dumb luck that I loved the name Lucy and his mother’s name was Lucinda. That was (and still is) the only name we both ever agreed on.

Don’t get me wrong, I have a list. My list is lovely, if I do say so myself. The names just roll off your tongue and I would be happy for my son to wear any of them. What girl do you know that hasn’t thought about what she would “someday” name her kids? Even if it isn’t serious, you know the thought has entered their minds at some point, regardless of whether it is fleeting.

That’s where things become a bit difficult. I’ve had certain ideas of what I’m going to name my kid since I was a kid myself, and here comes this yahoo to ruin all my plans. (The yahoo is Trent….you got that, right? Just checking.) And this extends way beyond naming the little rugrats. Things like religion, family, work, life, activities…these are issues that Trent and I are literally tackling as they arise. And sometimes it takes a while to figure out where we fall as a family. Maybe this is something everyone struggles with, but for us, I feel like the struggle is more obvious. The worst part for me is the realization that he has as much of a right as I do to make these decisions, and veto my own. It’s infuriating. As I am obviously always right. Apparently Trent didn’t get that memo.

Case in point, Trent hates horses. He thinks they are deadly, dangerous creatures and anyone riding one is a complete nutjob. I, on the other hand, was raised riding competitively from the age of eight. I was an equestrian show rider for years, and continued to ride recreationally throughout high school and college. In fact, one of my three part time jobs my junior/senior years at university was to ride horses weekly with a girl with Asperger Syndrome whose parents wanted her to have a riding companion. I think that horseback riding is great exercise, a wonderful way to teach kids about responsibility and discipline, and just plain fun. I owe much of who I am to that experience growing up.

So for years I’ve brought up that I’d love for Lucy to ride as she gets older. Maybe take lessons once a week or something. But Trent is all “Absolutely no way, Jose. Are you insane?” or the ever popular “Horses aren’t dangerous, huh? Tell that to Christopher Reeve!”

And I’ve let it go. The kid had never been on a horse in her life.

Had. Never.

Had.

Pony Rides!

Bwahahaha! I win this round, sucker!

I wonder if I should’ve saved my playing card for the baby naming round? Ah well, second children always have it worse.

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