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Music, shots, and crying…

If I was a betting woman, I’d have lost, lost, lost this past week! It was a big week for all my kids; all sorts of milestones going on. And I did a poor job in guessing all of the outcomes!

 SONORA

The birthday girl!

My firstborn turned 21!! I can’t help but say (in an oh-so- verklempt-cliché-way) it seems like yesterday that Sonora was born.  I can’t believe that we’ve already traveled through her terrible two’s, hit double digits, traversed through the treacherous teens, and now, here she is… officially an adult!

Sonora’s reaction to sparkling wine… she’s not a fan!

To celebrate Sonora’s birthday, we thought it would be fun to bringin her 21st by taking her out and letting her order her first drink at midnight. Before I write about how that went, a little backstory: Sonora is very low key, she has never been into loud parties and stuff like that. When I mentioned toasting in her 21st year with a drink at a bar, the only way I could get her to agree was to assure her it was going to be a swank quiet bar and not a sticky loud one.

I myself am not a night-life person, so I had NO idea where to take her. We’ve only lived in this area for a year, so I’m not familiar with most places around here, especially any bars! So it was after much digging online that I settled on taking her to the Flamingo Hotel. After all, the couple times I’d been there for dinner the bar was NOT the happening place.  Plus, as an added bonus it had a web cam, so Scott (who was pulling baby-sitting duty) could sort of participate. We said we’d wave at him.

Fast-forward to September 2nd, 11:53 p.m…..

Sonora: There are a lot of cars in the parking lot…

Me: I read it was Flamenco Night, probably a bunch people leaving soon

Fast-forward to September 2nd, 11:56 p.m….

 

Sonora: um…

Me: Wow, it’s sort of loud…

Me: Wow, it’s sort of crowded…

Me: CRAP! There’s a $15 cover charge!

(I manage to talk our way in by explaining we were just wanting to get a birthday drink and leave… after checking Sonora’s ID and seeing it was in fact her birthday, the bouncer guy let us in free of charge!)

Fast-forward to September 2nd  12:01 a.m….

The lounge was louder than loud and the Flamenco dancers were pretty intense.  We barely are able to order our drinks because the bar tender couldn’t hear us. We yelled and yelled and yelled, until finally we walked away with drinks. Poor Sonora didn’t get the frou-frou drink she had intended on getting and it was out of frustration that she walked away with the $5 sparkling wine special that the bartender pushed on her.

We went to the back of the bar hoping we’d be able to hear each other talking. Scott texted and asked why we weren’t dancing. HAHAHA. He then texted and told us to go and wave at the camera. He was going to take a screen shot of us. We went to the middle part of the bar and just sort of waved our drinks around, because we didn’t know where the web cam was. All of a sudden Sonora starts pointing excitedly and saying something that I couldn’t hear because all the noise. I turned to see where she was pointing and there is a guy staring right at us with the biggest grin. I turn around and finally make out her saying, “there’s the web-cam, over there. Look, it’s over there…” and I lean in and yell at her, “you know that guy in the BRIGHT RED top thinks you’re pointing at him, right?!?” That is when she decides it’s time to go!! So down went our almost untouched drinks and we headed home.

Fast-forward to September 2nd, 12:10 a.m.

We’re in the car driving home!

I promised Sonora that I’d take her out to Applebee’s, or somewhere similar, and get her a proper frou-frou drink.  We’ll go in the afternoon and sit outside, it will be perfect.

 

DUBLIN

Dublin and Scott at The Wiggles

We took Dublin to see The Wiggles. His first concert! I just knew he was going to love it…um…  I was so wrong!!! The second we sat down, he was trying to escape. It was a work out trying to out maneuver him. He wiggles more than The Wiggles wiggle!

Though we did manage to last through the whole concert, it wasn’t without Scott having to take him screaming and crying into the lobby a couple of times. He did venture down to the front of the stage, where there were tiny-tot groupies singing and dancing… And falling down, as Dublin did, hitting his head and resulting in another crying filled trip to the lobby.

By the end of the concert Scott and I were ready for a drink and I’m not talking the juice boxes they no doubt were serving in the lobby!

 

JUNIPER

And lastly, I would have bet that my little June-bug is at the top of the growth charts, it just seems like she’s gotten so big in these last two months. But nope, I was wrong again… she’s still at the bottom of the growth chart, though VERY healthy and strong! AND has quite the temper. She was as mad as a two month old can get at having to get immunization shots. NO FUN!

 

Worn out after the concert!

So there you have it, a week filled with music, shots, and crying.  Toddler tunes and Flamenco madness. Immunization shots, not vodka shots. And thankfully only two of my kids were crying, though I was almost crying with laughter over Sonora’s inadvertent flirting moves in the lounge!

Sing, Sing a Song…

Dublin

Dublin, no doubt planning on how to fool me a fourth time…

I’m not saying there has never been night time singing at my house, because there has; I usually save it as a desperate measures method of the nighty-night-night-time routine. Those nights when he needs  a little something extra to push him into the world of zzzzzzzz. Usually I break out the ABC song, which will surely cause problems for him later on in life. You know, like when he is school aged and his teacher wonders why learning his alphabet is putting him to sleep in class…

The thing is, I am what I like to call a subconscious singer. I can remember lyrics, but only subconsciously.  For example, consider this typical scenario:  I’m driving, I’m singing, I’m driving, I’m singing…. When all of a sudden it hits me, “I’m totally nailing this song! Listen to me sing the shitz out of this song!” And at THAT moment, when I consciously realize I’m singing, THAT is the moment when lyric amnesia kicks in.  So the ABC song is my go-to, I’d better not forget the lyrics song. The day I forget the lyrics to the ABC song is the day that I’m truly an “advanced maternal age” mom!

The last few nights of weaning has meant that I’ve had to break into song and I think the ABC song has worn out its welcome. I also know two lines from Rainbow Connection and Close to You, but even I get tired of hearing myself sing those lines over and over.  The only other song I really know for sure is BINGO, and even that has me losing my place several times during a round…

Am I at: clap-clap-N-G-O, or am I at clap-clap-clap-G-O…GAHHH!!!!! 

I suppose I’m going to have to study up on toddler songs. Meanwhile, perhaps I should consider bringing in a cheat-sheet.

In other news: weaning has been going great! We’re three nights of boobie free sleep! He’s down to just nap time nursing. However, he’s already figured out how to work the system: he acts like he’s ready for a nap, he’ll nurse for about 15 min’s, all the while acting like he’s going to fall asleep…. and then like magic, he’s rejuvenated and wiggles out of bed to go play. He did that three times before he REALLY went to sleep for a nap.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. But fool me three times and I figure that boy is pretty darn wily and will figure out how to get boobie time one way or another!!

Adventures in Weaning

Dublin and Juniper

My D-Man and Juniper

It was some gawd-awful hour in the middle of the night and I was nursing my little D-Man for the 3rd time—that’s right THIRD TIME—and that’s when it hit me, it was time for me to wean him for reals. I’d been threatening to do it for a few weeks before that, but hadn’t managed to pull the trigger yet. He’d been teething and refusing solid food, so he was relying on nursing more than usual. But that night, THAT NIGHT I decided that despite his teeth not being all the way in, IT.WAS.TIME.

Extended nursing isn’t for everyone.  I do not blame a woman one bit if she decides to close up shop after the first bite. Having your boob used as a teething ring, not so fun, I totally understand, I totally get it. Nursing a baby is one thing, but nursing a toddler is a lesson in endurance, patience and pain management.

I want to come clean and admit something: I didn’t do the extended nursing thing because I’m some sort of wonder woman, no… I did the extended nursing thing because boobies are the BEST TOOL EVER! They fix boo-boo’s, they are sleeping pills, they are anti-depressants…. They are magic. Take that away and I am left with an almost empty bag of tricks! That is why I nursed so long. However, that night I reached the point where I was willing to give up the magic boobies , because they were no longer worth getting beat up over…

On that particular night I had my pony-tail pulled, like he was ringing a dinner bell. “WAKE UP WOMAN, I NEED A SNACK!!” is what I think he was trying to tell me, but since he still doesn’t say much, I think he was improvising and the hair pulling got my attention pretty fast. He was in fine form that night. I got kicked in the face several times during his nursing gymnastics; my nursing equipment experienced the painful twists and turns that happen during that sort of circus routine.  Though he wanted to nurse, he was being very particular about where my hands were, so my hands kept getting swatted when they touched him. I think they were getting in the way of his wiggling. He so LOVES to wiggle!! He also didn’t want to be looked at, so he kept pushing my face away. FINALLY, after much kicking, wiggling, twisting and PAIN… when he fell asleep, I did my usual freeze-in-position-for-the-count-of-twenty and then rolled over and tried to fall back to sleep… but couldn’t, because that’s when his little sister woke up and it was her turn to nurse.

It was while I was nursing Juniper that I researched online how to wean a toddler… I came up with a game plan and this is how it played out:

Night one:  LEMON

I started the night out as normal. He nursed to sleep on my lap downstairs and Scott later carried him up to bed. I was tired and didn’t feel like dealing with the weaning thing, so like I said, it was business as usual. He woke up and nursed once, twice… and it was during the third time that half way through, I said with determination, “I’M GETTING A LEMON!!!”  So I went downstairs and squeezed lemon over my nursing bits and headed back upstairs to my little D-Man. He went to nurse, pulled back and made the I-just-tasted-a-lemon-face, tried it again, pulled back and made another face and then….  he rolled over and went to sleep!!!

Night two: LEMON

I lemoned up and it was pretty much a repeat of the first night and he went to sleep, sans nursing.

Night three: LEMON

“Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me…”

He latched on, but what… WHAT?!? He DID NOT STOP NURSING!! Noooo, he nursed, he only pulled away to spit out a bit of lemon pulp, but other than that, it was nursing as usual… apparently he somehow built up immunity to the taste of lemon!

 

Night four: BANDAID

20 years ago I was in a similar situation, trying to wean a persistent nurser.  The magic tool I used to dissuade her from nursing?? Bandaging up and telling her they were broken.   Sooo, I decided to give that another try and found the biggest bandaids we had in the house, bandaged up and when it came time to go to sleep, I informed him that mommy’s boobies were broken. He didn’t believe me, so I let him see for himself. After giving them a once over, he opted for cuddle time instead.

 

We are two nights in and so far we have had two nurse free nights… Tonight will be a biggy, will we make it three nights in a row?? I sure hope so. Juniper is a GREAT sleeper and if we can just get Dublin to sleep on his own, I might have some solid night sleeps in my near future!! YAY!!!!

If we tackle the weaning, what’s next on the agenda?? Adventures in solo-sleeping… coming soon! ;)

Two under two…

My two under two.

I’m no stranger to being a parent, having been one for 20 (almost 21) years. I’ve been a married parent, a single parent, a step parent, a surrogate parent… yeah, I know parenting.  Or, so I thought!

When I was nearing the end of my pregnancy my partner in crime, Scott, kept telling me, “You’re going to need help… Seriously, Sandy, you’re going to need help.” In my hormonal state, every  time he spouted that sentence at me, I wanted to slap him. I am an independent, fully capable, woman… help?! *SNORT*

I had a plan. A well laid plan. In my head, not on paper, because everyone knows everything looks easier on paper.  ANYway, about the plan: I would continue breastfeeding Dublin and perfect tandem nursing, thus achieving my goal of breastfeeding each of my kids until they turn two. I was going to get up every morning by eight. I was going to have a clean house.  My days would be filled with productivity… from playing structured games with my almost two year old, Dublin, all the while I would be baby wearing my newest addition, Juniper, in one of the many baby carrying devices I recently acquired.  We would go to the park, we would play on our patio, we would walk to get Starbucks… oh the fun we would have, the three musketeers!  And why shouldn’t I be able to achieve this, after all I’d been able to do it two times before!

Here is where the universe has a hearty laugh at my expense; as well as all the other moms who have more than one child under a certain age. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…. And they laugh and laugh and laugh! This is where they say, “Sandy… it doesn’t really count when one child is 20 years old and the other is 20 months. That’s sorta like cheating.”

Two under two… it’s a new game, with new rules.

I know that there are wonder-moms out there; I’ve seen them in pictures. I’m pretty sure they exist. I, however, am not one of them….

On a good day I get up around 8. But on a bad day, it could be 4 a.m., 2 a.m., noon, 3pm, or any other random number that resides on a clock.  My new translation of a good day is when I get 4 hours of consecutive sleep, I don’t have many of those kind of good days.  A good day is when the family room floor is toy free for 2 hours (that usually happens during nap time). A good day is when the dishes are done and the laundry has made it out of the dryer and as far as a laundry basket. My bedroom floor currently has about 5 filled baskets. I think it’s time to buy more baskets.

Most days I feel like a cow… no, not in the traditional “I feel fat” sort of way, I’m too tired to care about THAT right now. No, I mean literally… I feel like a milk supply outlet. If I’m not feeding Juniper, I’m feeding Dublin. And sometimes, when I’m feeling adventurous and ambidextrous, I’ll feed both at the same time. Maybe I should say when I’m feeling adventurous and amBOOBextrous! Haha. ANYway,  I seem to constantly have a boob out. Don’t get me wrong… I’m a happy cow; I come from California after all! I’m a thrilled and happy cow, except when Dublin bites me. Then I’m not so happy. Or when he drags his teeth… oh my friggon lord, that HURTS!

**On  a side note: I’ve lost ALL of my Juniper weight!! Just don’t get me started about how much Dublin weight I still have to lose! Ugh! **

So, after all my firm and unequivocal “NO, I WILL NOT NEED HELP!!!” it is with a enormous relief that I hand off Dublin to Scotts mom when she arrives several mornings during the week to watch him while I run back to bed and try to catch a couple of hours more sleep, Juniper willing. Or, while I clean the bathroom… Or, while I try and catch up on any number of things I’m currently behind in!!

I have a new found respect for all women who have performed this juggling act before me, those who can do it with grace and style. I’m 5.5 weeks into this parenting two under two and have not found my groove yet, but when I do… I hope to join the ranks of those other fabulous mommy’s out there that actually make it beyond their front door with spawn in tow. (I have ventured out by myself for walks in the double stroller, but the thought of going to Target BY MYSELF accompanied by both kids has me breaking out in a cold sweat.) While I’ve not found my groove yet, I have to say this new chapter in life is a challenge that I am feeling so blessed to be venturing in to. Bring on the spit up, the poop, the crying, the tantrums… because at the end of the day, when I get a toddler hug or a newborn smile… my heart melts with joy.  Yup, I’m feeling very blessed to have the opportunity to do this two under two thing.

Bye-bye Baby Bump, HELLO BABY!

One night I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t get comfortable, being huge as a tank and all, then the next night I couldn’t sleep because I needed to spend every second of the night watching my new baby girl breathe.

I feel as if I’m a sleepwalker, my hair is disheveled, my clothes a mixture of maternity and regular sizes, my eating erratic, and my sleep schedule is nonexistent. .. and I feel like every second of this discombobulated state of existence I find myself in is a miracle. I keep pinching myself and wondering how it could be that I am, after 20 years, doing this all again. How could it be that I had one child and in a blink of an eye, now I have THREE!

It seems as if this last pregnancy flew by without any pomp and circumstance. Where we were counting down the days that didn’t seem to budge with Dublin’s pregnancy, this last pregnancy flew by. The only part that seemed to drag was the last couple of weeks, during which time if felt as if I would never go into labor. But when I did… boy did I!

If deliveries had a theme, mine would have been Go Go Speed Racer.  More than one person in the room commented along the lines of,“OMG, this is happening so fast!”

 

Some of the memorable comments from the whirlwind birthing session:

The nurse- “Wow, this is you at 8 cm and no drugs?!?” (In response to my laughing at something).

Me- “Yes, this is me… but don’t worry, you’ll see me in pain soon enough. I can totally handle these contractions, but I know that the ones at the end hurt like nobody’s business… so yeah, you’ll see me in extreme pain soon enough….”

20 min’s later….I’m in extreme pain, hearing this:

Scott- “OMG… this is happening fast, this is really happening fast”

Scott- “There’s the head!”

(WATER BREAKS…)

Scott- “OMG… this is happening fast!!”

Midwife- “Get ready to push the body out”

Scott, Midwife, nurse- “OH WOW!!!”

Nurse- “Did you even push?”

Me- “I guess she road the wave out….”

 

While waiting for my little girl to make her arrival and send me into labor, I felt like such a hypochondriac. I have a history of fast labor, but always got the impression that I mentioned it to the doctors and nurses, they didn’t fully believe me.  So when it all happened so fast, like I had been suggesting it might… I felt a HUGE “BOOya!” moment! I felt like a bit of a celebrity, with the way every new nurse greeted me with a, “So, I hear you had a fast labor…”  Yes, I am legend! ;)

No drugs, one push, 6lbs 6 oz…. And we welcomed Juniper Audrey into our lives.  

Juniper

Holding Juniper in the hospital… Love at first sight!

Music Class

My spirited Sonora-nora-bug. Check out the shirt-- she modified it herself.

My spirited Sonora-nora-bug. Check out the shirt-- she "modified" it herself.

I’m sitting on the floor, in a circle, with all the other moms. The instructor sits on the floor too, playing a guitar. All the other babies and toddlers sit on their moms lap, quietly. I look around at these moms and wonder what the hell they’ve been giving their children?? Melatonin in their bottles?? Valium laced teething biscuits?? I want to know their secret… because, as I look into the middle of the circle and see my spirited 17 months old, he’s about to break out some of his finest dance moves.

When I signed my little D-Man up for music class, I had visions of his giggling delight at learning songs and playing with all the toddler instruments. My vision didn’t include me having to get up-and-down, like a very pregnant teeter-totter, from a sitting position on the floor to running around the room to referee my sons wild curiosity of all the other kids, the music instruments hanging on the wall, the blinds, the light switch, the piano, the taller-than-him bongo drum…GAH! I’m suddenly exhausted just having this flash back!

After a few classes of the above scenario, I convinced Scott that it would be GREAT bonding time for him if he started taking Dublin to music class. After all, Scott was a music major in college and the only one who knows how to read music and play instruments in our family. What better bonding experience would there be than one where he shared the love of music with his son. HA! I was persuasive and he did start attending music class with Dublin…for a few weeks. Somehow the ball got bounced back to my side of the court and after complaining about Dublin freaking out in class, he persuaded me that it would be good to see if Dublin’s energy was different when I attended with him and again I found myself working up a sweat in music/my-aerobics class.

This is where my “advanced maternal mom” perks kick in. Poor Sonora, my practice child, taught me that this spirit doesn’t go away. You can try to tame it, but working against it just ends up frustrating you and your child. When Sonora was young (and for that matter, I was young too) I was so worried about what other people thought. Why was mine the only child who couldn’t seem to sit still on the piano bench during music class?? Why was mine the only child who seemed to race through the song and didn’t keep up with the rest of the class?? Why was mine the only kid not reading?? Was she a trouble maker?? Was she just in need of one time out after the other?? Again, I have to say: my poor Sonora, having had to carry that burden of being my first child! In retrospect I can see things much clearer and now that I have a son who seems to be following his sister’s footsteps, I can confidently move forward knowing that if I nourish his spirit, I’m not going to be morphing him into some kind of hooligan. How do I know?? Because Sonora turned out awesome! She went on to make Honor Band in her middle school years, after finding her love of classical music by way of the flute. Sure she may have been dragging her feet and had many crying episodes while trying to learn how to read, but seemingly overnight she seemed to have a light go off, where she saw how reading might be fun and went from NOT reading to having to be skipped up three reading grades and landing in the 4th grade reading class… she’s never looked back. She became an avid reader and at it continues until this day. She now works in a book store and is well versed in so many books; she has no problem directing her customers to books of their interests. Yeah, she’s all that!

I don’t know what this next kid will be, this one brewing inside of me… but I have a feeling that she’s going to take after her siblings. I think I better buckle up, because I have a feeling it’s going to be a wild ride!!! As for Dublin and music class… I think I need to find one that plays “house music”, has a bubble machine and allows free access to the drums!

Juggling Knives

“It’s because he was our first.
I mean, I think we were very tense when Kevin was little.
If he got a scratch, we were hysterical.
By the third kid, you know, you let them juggle knives.” – Parenthood (1989)

Dublin out and about visiting all the germs!

Dublin out and about visiting all the germs!

When I think back on the first year of Sonora’s life, it exhausts me. I was the epitome of a nervous mother. I worried over everything. Was she pooping too much. Was she pooping too little? Was her sleep schedule messed up? Everything I could worry about… I covered it. For the first two weeks of her life, every day during the noon hour I called the on-call advice nurse regarding one of my concerns. Worry, worry, worry… I was so certain I was going to break her.

Fast forward 20 years and here I am with a one year old and shockingly enough, I’ve not called an advice nurse once!

I find it supremely ironic that the 22 year old me, in my fertility prime – eggs all youthful and agile, was way too immature to handle baby making with ease. It freaked me all the hell out. Now at 42, past my fertile prime, I’m a calmer mom. If Dublin drops a fork on the ground, picks it up and puts it in his mouth… I’m not panicking that I didn’t get to put it through three types of disinfectant processes before it again touched his lips. If another kid grabs one of Dublin’s toys with food covered fingers and sticks it in his mouth, I do not go all bug-eyed and have to quarantine the toy for x amount of days. If Dublin coughs, I’m not having to phone a doctor for fear he might not make it through the hour.

Like I said, it’s exhausting thinking about how scared and paranoid I was during Sonora’s baby days! Now, instead of any fear and paranoia that I might break Dublin, it’s with awe that I acknowledge his fragile tiny self… and amazement to see him tumble and grow into a healthy little man.

I’m not saying that 22 is too young to start a family, some women seem to jump into the roll like they’ve been parenting for years, no matter what their age. I admire women like that. However, for me it didn’t come naturally. For me it was a learning process… one that took me 20 years. Sometimes I think that for some of us, our first child is (unfortunately for them) our practice child. The one that we make so many of the mistakes with. By our 2nd child, we’ve perfected a few more things, including our confidence. Poor, poor Sonora… I had quite the learning curve!

Now-a-days the internet has become my best friend. It’s so easy to look up any parenting topic and dissect it this way and that. Something I didn’t have when Sonora was a baby. Twenty years ago, if I wanted to research a baby topic (from sleep schedules to breast feeding), I had to old-school it and read a book! Or, ask a friend. And sometimes those old-school ways aren’t readily available at 2:30 in the morning!!

I’m so happy Sonora and I made it out of her childhood alive… and though it took me 20 years, I’m finally left the scaredy cat mothering behind.

Third Times a Charm

This is me and my little (almost) 15 month old D-Man.

Me and my little D-Man.

Tomorrow I’ll be 16 weeks. For the last few weeks, about once a week, I pull out my at-home Doppler and give a little listen to the newbies heartbeat. Once a week I’m all smiles to hear it thump thump thumpin’ away. Everything is going great and in 24 (omg-that’s-not-so-far-away!!) weeks, we’ll be welcoming the newbies arrival. This pregnancy seems to be flying by. Perhaps it’s my days spent chasing my little D-Man around the house that is making this all fly by so fast. Whatever the cause, the days are flying and it has me thinking about some big decisions I’ll be having to make soon enough.


When I had Dublin I wasn’t really nervous about the birth. I kept telling myself that I’d done it before, I can do it again. This time, however, I’m sort of freaking out. Perhaps it’s because instead of a nineteen year gap to cushion pains memory, I only have 14 months. I remember vividly my thinking, during the middle of it all, this HURTS. THIS REALLY F*#!ING HURTS!!!


Both of my previous deliveries were fast and furious– as in, the room isn’t even ready and I’m about to plop out a baby, F-A-S-T. With both of my previous deliveries I experienced the panic that comes when you see your baby’s heartbeat drop drastically with each contraction. With both of my previous deliveries, before the doctor arrived, the nurses dropped the “C” word (c-section) a few times. Both of my previous deliveries ended with lots of stitches to repair down there (ouch!). So this time around, when the doctor put the option of an elective c-section on the table, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.


I love the idea of scheduling my due date. It would make arranging child care for Dublin sooo much easier. I love the idea of not feeling the pain of contractions. I love the idea of not having to see my baby’s heart rate show signs of distress. However, the thought of a needle in my back makes me want to hurl from fright. Also, the thought of being numb from my waste down and feeling the tugging as they pull the baby out of my stomach into the world… Fright. Hurling. AWK.. So any way I look at it, I’m a bit nervous and scared. BUT… not as nervous and scared as I am at the thought of being a mom to TWO children under TWO. Now that… THAT thought gives me night terrors! ;)

Pregnant at 42…

No, Im not psycho... just like to be sure. (7 tests)

Yes, you counted right-- that's SEVEN tests. I wanted to be sure!

If luck be a lady and I be that lady, then I am so knocked up right now! Despite the fact that we were on the look out for a double lined pregnancy test, it was still a shock to get one. Then to get another one and the one after that one… and 7 tests later, still seeing all the positive results lined up in a row, I’m in a state of disbelief. I feel so very lucky and oh-so-very scared at the same time.

Though I’m obviously beating out the statistics for a woman my age in the conception department, it’s still very scary- all those statistics running around in my head. I know it’s possible to beat the odds, I just did it with the fabulously healthy little one-year-old running around my house. But will I beat the odds again?? I truly hope so.

I’m 7 weeks along, or at least I think. Being me, things were not cut and dry. First off, I got an “inconclusive” blood test. Never even knew that “maybe pregnant” was an option for pregnancy blood tests! It did, after a few days and a retest, give me the positive I was hoping for. Our first ultrasound appointment, where we were supposed to see a heartbeat, showed that we were earlier than THEY thought. I’d have been freaking out, but I suspected with a certainty that I’d ovulated late. So now we’re waiting for our next ultrasound, which will be in a week.

Meanwhile, I hold my breath, look at my son and repeat, “Yes… I CAN do this!”

Luck be a lady…

Me and my progeny...

Me and my progeny...

Sometimes it hits me – I have a toddler. AND I have a 20 year old. AND I’m in my 40’s. AND… if Luck be a Lady and I’m that lady… I’ll be knocked up again, soon.

That’s right, glutton for the punishment that those small packages of little humans can dish out, I’m not feeling “done” yet in the producing progeny department. I’m scared, because of all the statistics out there… yadda yadda yadda… I heard them all before during the last go around with pregnancy. I was scared then and I’m scared now, but regardless, with the support of my partner in crime (shout out to Scott) we’re going to try for another one. I feel incredibly blessed to have this 2nd chance at parenting younglings. I’d forgotten how much I love being a “mommy”. Don’t get me wrong, I love being a “MOMMMMMM!!!” (usually accompanied by an eye-roll.) And I take a lot of pride in the fact that I’ve been able to get one amazing daughter to the age of 18 without too many scrapes and bruises to her physical and mental self. In fact, I think getting her to that “finish line” gave me the courage to try it again. Sort of a, “I didn’t screw it up too bad the first time, maybe I’ll get even better with practice….”

All ready I see that I’m a different mom in my 40’s than I was in my 20’s. My 20 year old parental self would sanitize all that was within a three feet radius of my little Sonora-nora-bug. If another kid touched her toy, I’d discreetly place it in my diaper bag, segragate it from the “clean toys” and hand Sonora a new toy (from the clean toy section of the diaper bag, duh!). Sonora never touched the carpet in her early non-crawling months. She was always on a blanket. Only ONE SIDE of that blanket ever touched the floor… and I could go on and on like this. Oh, but I could… I will openly admit I was a bit of a freak.

Jump ahead 20 years and I am happy to report that with my 2nd child I am no longer a super freak, not super freaky. In fact, recently I was doubled over laughing having just witnessed Dublin offer the dog a baby biscuit and, after the dog already gummed it, reneged on the deal and stuck it right into his own mouth. Doggy germs and all. Also, if that’s not enough to point out how far I’ve come, I even allow Dublin to sit… in…a..grocery..basket… without putting him in a protective bubble first!

All of this makes me wonder where I’ll be in another 20 years, because there is no way I would have guessed 20 years ago that I’d be here!