The Graduate

Playette graduated from preschool this evening. They had a ceremony at the college down the street.

I remember thinking, last year as I picked her up from school one day and the older children were preparing for their own event, that it seemed a little over the top...this whole Pre-K graduation thing. It just seemed like one more thing to turn into an event. I vowed again, as I had over the many years prior, even before having a child of my own, that I would not get caught up in the hype.

Fast forward twelve months and I was almost right. Our preparation was low-key and, once there, I tried to politely turn down the tissues as they were passed my way just prior to the children's procession.

I took one because it seemed like the thing to do. I balled it up in my hand so that I could hold Dez more tightly.

The kids marched in, blue caps with tassles slightly askew on most heads. They smiled and waved to familiar faces.

We all stood to recite the Pledge of Allegiance along with them.

The school director called them all "Kindergarteners."

I smiled. Playette didn't know every word, but she was obviously part of the group. Just another four-year-old, reveling in being the center of attention. She waved to BD, me, and Dez.

They sang three songs, one of which required them to don sunglasses and declare that they were stars.

One of the teachers read a short poem, barely able to choke back the tears that, as I was told by her daughter seated near me, she was unable to hold in during the rehearsal earlier in the day.

And then they asked each child, before they crossed the stage as individuals to receive their mock diplomas, what they wanted to be when they grew up.

I was told later that there was no coaching. Each child came up with their own answer. It may or may not have been the same during the rehearsal as it was tonight.

I recall three nurses, a cheeseburger, a butterfly, fireman, policeman, meatball, Batman, and a doctor amongst the responses.

Before they started, I jokingly told myself that Playette would probably say something silly like "pizza."

But she didn't.

She got up there and spoke into the microphone the same answer that she had given earlier that day, I later learned. She was sure. She was confident.

She was the only child who said that what she wanted to be was...a mommy.

I bawled.

And wished I had taken more than one tissue.

And then...

I'm typing this with my thumbs while seated on a plane. Because, y'know, the baby's sleeping and I can't pass up avoiding a nap for myself. (It's Dez's first flight! Heading to new state #1!)

I had every intention of posting something yesterday, because I always seem to think of these things on Mondays, but time escaped me yet again. Nothing new. I'm not complaining because I really am enjoying this new little family member of ours. I can sleep when I'm 70. Right?

I cannot even begin to promise that I will blog more consistently any time soon. You get that though, right? It'll happen eventually. Just bear with me, 'k?

Anyway, so the bebe is now seven weeks old. It's both so young and yet so far from when he first came into this world, all at the same time. Yesterday, I was looking a photos from a session we had done when he was 8 days old and I realized that he'd never look like that again. Le sigh. I think I'm overly emotional because I still feel oh-so-guilty for paying attention to all the wrong things after Playette was born.

Wait. I thought I was supposed to be letting myself off the hook for that? Any day now would be nice.

So, when did I last post? It had to be weeks ago, right? Here's some of what we've been up to:

BD fell back into his role of Event Planner Extraordinaire and spent two weeks in NYC helping to facilitate another successful Fleet Week. He worked hard and was rewarded with some cool experiences. Like seeing Katy Perry and that tall country dude perform (brain fail - oh! Trace Adkins!), going to both he Jimmy Fallon and Daily shows, meeting the First Lady and Jon Stewart, and generally rocking with showing the public how awesome the Navy is.

Back home...well, we did none of those things. But! We did survive. Which is amazing in and of itself. But not without some help.

Both our former Friendly Neighborhood Physical Therapist (FNPT) and Auntie D came to visit.

First was FNPT, all the way from our old, temporary hometown in California. We hadn't seen her in almost 18 months and it was cool to see how Playette quickly made up for lost time. We had fun going out to eat (all-you-can-eat seafood buffet FTW!) and making a couple of trips to the beach. What was biggest for me, though, was the way she helped me to plow through my to-do list and keep my eldest clean and fed. That was rather HUGE.

After a week with FNPT, we paused for Memorial Day weekend (don't ask me how I made it through because I think my brain very conveniently dumped the details). Bright and early on Monday, Auntie D, BD's sister, drove into town. I knew she had arrived when I heard Playette screeching her name. Who needs a doorbell?

The ladies enjoyed one another as only they can, as they have a wonderful bond. Playette was surely testing boundaries and loving the attention, but that's par for the course these days. I try so hard to remember that she's going through a lot of transition and I have to keep expectations of her behavior appropriate. Not. Easy. For. Me.

What else, what else? I'm sure there's so much more, but I blame sleep deprivation. I feel like I'm running on adrenaline 100% of the time and I just don't have that much adrenaline. What results is a lot of finger crossing and hoping for the best.

Oh! I signed up for the Army 10 Miler at 4 o'clock one morning. Crazy! So far, I have run one mile. That was yesterday. It was slow and hard and way too hot, but I kept moving. Go, me?

Also, in the last few weeks, Dez and I attended not one but two IEP meetings to help get his big sister all documents up for her Kindergarten debut in a few months. Yikes. Thankfully, I was able to secure the assistance of an advocate, so we walked away with a signed document the second time. Whew. I truly hate that part. IEP season blows.

Also, prom season always reminds me of my mother. The morning I came home from my own prom is when my mother, after yelling at me for staying out all night, told us that she had breast cancer. And it was spreading. 18 years later and that's one memory my brain clings tightly to.

I didn't mean to end on such a sad note, but that's life, y'all. At least, that's MY life. MY normal. And I'm ok with it. Most days.

Today is surely one of those days. I'm hours into my adventure and I can't wait to tell you more about it later.

Dez and I only have about 34 more hours to make our imprint on this town before its back home for us again.

Here's to making it count.

Brotha

Ok, so maybe I didn't waste years of my life on this TV show after all. Some good came from it.

I believe that, over the past four weeks, the question I've most frequently been asked is, "How is Playette adjusting to being a big sister?" or some version thereof.

The last time I posted, she was still a little iffy about him.

At first, if asked, she would say that she didn't want to hold him. I have some pictures of her first meeting with him, but I haven't the brain power to upload them from the camera quite yet. The scene went a little like this: Playette arrived with her friend, escorted by her friend's mom (who so graciously agreed to watch our child while I was in the hospital for much longer than I had ever planned). The girls were super cute, dolled up in dresses and matching hair bows. They were ready for a special occasion. But what did Playette do? Well, she acknowledged that there was a baby, but that was about it. The girls were much more interested in chasing each other around the curtain that surrounded my room door. When they left, Playette said goodbye to my belly, not the baby.

After the first week, she made a switch. I guess she figured that he wasn't going anywhere and perhaps she should get with the program. She added a couple of phrases to her lexicon. "S'alright, baby." "S'ok." But he still kinda intimidated her. (Not that I could blame her.)

Check out when she tried to give him a hug two weeks ago:

 

Since then, she has come around. Way around. She wants to protect him, hold him, feed him (ahem, not with a bottle), hug him, kiss him, push his swing (totally not necessary), change him, show him off. ALL. THE. TIME. A little Elmyra-esque. New phrase: "What's wrong, Dez?" in a little sing-songy voice

This was last week:

 

When I picked her up from school on Friday, one of the teachers told me how impressed she was with whatever we've been teaching Playette at home. Apparently, she is very attentive to the dolls, even moreso than before. I asked if she's been trying to breastfeed them and she hasn't...yet.

Overall, she's a happy big sister.

And other than her taking certain liberties with his umbilical cord stump two weeks ago, I'm pretty pleased with her showing, too.

7 Days Old

Because we watch way too much Nick Jr over here, I can't get this song out of my head.

Every day, it's "Oh, look at me, I'm ___ days old!"

So, yes, what that means is that our newbie was born last week. Finally. At 41 weeks + 5 days gestation, Dez came into this world like gangbusters. He was just over 9lbs and 22 inches long. He's got the largest hands and feet. He's so alert and reminds me of a much older person. He's flipping adorable.

I would have to tell you the whole story for it to make sense, and I will, but suffice it to say for now that things went just a leetle away from the plan in order for him to be born.

And by a leetle, I mean "almost as much as they possibly could."

But I'm happy with the outcome.

And so very, very grateful.

It's a totally different experience, coming home with a kid that you're not staring at, waiting for any sign of heart failure because it sounds sooo horrible and you don't want to miss it by accident.

Yeah. I haven't been doing that.

I also haven't been crying non-stop, paralyzed with fear about when the other shoe was going to drop.

He's passed every screening, so all those trips back to the ENT and Audiology with a newborn haven't proven necessary.

We haven't had to brave two hours of sweat-drenched freak-out (mine) due to hearing screams like I've never heard before (hers) at the Endocrinologist's office, trying to squeeze out enough blood for a CBC. No waiting for a doctor to come find an artery. No decision to be made about whether or not to stick a needle in the baby's scalp.

No geneticist, no social worker, no staying up all night trying to figure out on my own what "EI" means and how to get connected to it.

There have been "Congratulations!" instead of "I'm sorry."

I haven't lost any friends so far that I can tell.

It's quite bizarre.

Sleep deprivation? Check.

Sibling adjustment issues? Check.

Mom guilt? Check.

Icky and painful childbirth recovery symptoms? Check.

All that delightfully boring, run-of-the-mill stuff? We're going through it.

But I can't help but think of all that I missed last time.

How scared I was then as compared to how happy I'm allowed to be now.

If you've been here, you know what I mean.

If you haven't, I appreciate that you're here and learning.

Next time, I'll share some pics or something. Today was more a day of reflection.

Again, I'm grateful. For all of it.

Without the cloudy days, you don't appreciate the sunny ones nearly as much.

Seriously Stubborn

I'm realizing that it's difficult for some people to believe that I'm still pregnant.

But I am. 41 +1.

So I asked BD to take this photo of me yesterday as we were on our way in to my appointment to check on how our newbie is doing.


Apparently, he's just fine. He rocked the ultrasound and non-stress test. The only "issue" is that he's measuring big. I know it's just a guesstimate and all, but petite mama + big, comfy boy that doesn't appear to have any immediate plans to introduce himself brought out some concerns amongst my medical support staff.

That made yesterday a tad bit stressful for me.

Today is better. I have smart and caring friends that are earning their keep with reassurance and confidence in me.

And, also, I'm healthy. Doing great, in fact. No complaints other than the stuff that's par for the course at this point in any pregnancy. I still fit my wedding rings. I'm actually begging for some discomfort of the labor variety.

I still have every hope that Dez will come and greet us on his own, but if not, the interventions begin on Sunday night. Boo.

Just hope for the best, 'k?

Hoppy Easter and...

The answer to your question. <-- clicky-clicky

Pee-Pee Pants and Preparation

Still pregnant. Just in case anyone was wondering.

Also? No signs of impending labor.

You do know that whole "due date" thing is just a suggestion, right?

Intellectually, I am aware of that fact as well, but there's just something about that day going by that does something to a gal. Add in the possibility of still having as many as twelve more days to go and...

Personally, it has made me certifiably loony. Either I'm laughing or crying. Eating or sleeping. One extreme or another. Moderation has gone out the window.

Yesterday, I spent quality time with my OnDemand. Never before had I shown interest in Celebrity Apprentice, but yesterday? I needed to watch the season. And then get unreasonably upset that I couldn't fast forward because I would fall asleep, the show would end, and then I'd wake up and have to start from the beginning. Again. And again. Talk about first world problems.

[I did actually learn something though. Clay Aiken's charity sounds amazing and him visiting the kids made me all teary.]

Today, I decided to make myself at least somewhat useful. I got up and showered and dressed. Before noon!

Wait. Just to clarify, I do wake up in the mornings. I am responsible for picking out Playette's clothes, doing her hair, and taking her to school. After that, I usually have good intentions, but many a day I end up back in the bed with the curtains drawn.

Because I'm that awesome. #notproud

Oh, and get this:

We rearranged our bedroom many weeks ago in order to get ready for the newbie. I gave up my nightstand and replaced it with a bassinet.

I have now turned the bassinet into a nightstand.

Turns out it's quite the convenient spot for the remote control and there's this little ribbon slot on the side that allows me to not have to reach to the floor, huffing and puffing, for my cell phone charger. It slides right in! Huzzah! And it's also a great place for my water bottle. Who knew?!

I promise that I'll adjust appropriately when the time comes.

Whenever that may be.

Gah.

So. Wondering how Playette is taking all of this?

I think she thinks that I'm the biggest liar ever. She's been waiting on this baby for a very. long. time. I am starting to think that she's going to be scarred for life when he does come because Dez is just supposed to live in my big belly FOREVER. Or so it seems.

We've been struggling with a lot of clinginess and attention-seeking behavior lately. And then there's the whole accident thing.

This week, there were three days in a row where Playette came home in her spare clothes. I just kept washing them and sending them back the next day. It made it easier for me to assess whether something had happened or not because my brain was having a hard time recognizing right away whether that was what she had worn that morning or not.

Enter the pee-pee pants.

They are teal and velour. They just barely still fit. They are obvious.

And I've seen them way too much this week.

We went from no worries in the land of toileting to my heart dropping every afternoon.

We've had conversations. Grown-up conversations about how amazing our bodies are that they tell us when to eat, drink, and...POTTY! Remember that part? Yeah. Stop waiting until the last possible second, kid. Or, maybe tell a teacher you have to go before you start? Because "I'm wet," is an awesome sentence and all, but it's not the most desirable use of your vocabulary at this particular time.

So now you see why I've been taking to my bed.

It's just stressful.

And, again, intellectually I know that other kids in her class may wear pee-pee pants, too, occasionally. I just don't want anyone to look at my kid (any more) differently. I want so badly for her to just blend.

*sigh*

In the effort to help her adjust better to the actual bringing home of baby, we went out today and got a few things. Since regression due to change related to a new sibling is totally normal, it was suggested by her teacher that we try to put her in a mommy-type role instead of allowing her the option of reverting back to that of baby when Dez arrives.

That meant going to the toy store today. (Good thing I got dressed!)

She got this:


And this:

And then we stopped at the library to check out this:


This was all pretty impromptu and we're not really the toy-buying types (Playette is just so content with what she has), so I hope it goes over well. The doll and gear will remain in the trunk of the car until needed and she's already "reading" the book. It seems perfect for her and this situation. BD really impressed me by finding the book in under three minutes, quite randomly, since we got to the library right before closing time.

I wish I could say that we put more thought into this whole thing, but we went from having sooo much time to having none, so, again with the winging it.

There's a full moon tonight, y'all. Think labor-inducing thoughts, 'k?