John and I are nicely in synch when it comes to most things ... finances, fashion, goals, other things I can't think of just now. However, we part ways on occasion when it comes to parenting technique... Some of his more interesting ideas I have not adopted ...
- Big Bad Wolf: a recent parenting invention and a real gem ... if you (child) do something he (daddy) doesn't like, "a wolf will come and eat you up". The wolf is especially sensitive to poor manners like crying and nose picking. He especially likes to eat children who disobey, refuse to nap or who are messy when eating dinner. If you, child, happen to be disobeying while out with parent, daddy, daddy likes to loudly ponder dropping you, child, "off in the woods" so the big bad wolf can find you and take you to his house. Once there, he will then probably eat you for dinner. John even fields phone calls from this terrible creature (known by a "bark bark" ringtone). The conversations are amusing to an unthreatened third party:
John ... hello? Wolf? Yes, they are both here.
Wolf ...
John ... Well Ava is sleeping so don't come to eat her, but Claire is here and wide awake ...
Wolf ...
John ... Ok, great! So five or so minutes? See you then!
Me ... You are hopelessly diluting your parental authority
- Swats to stop crying: Another interesting parenting approach involving inflicting swats to diaper padded bottoms to stop bottom owner from crying. The surprising thing is how poorly this works!
- I don't like you anymore and other sweet nothings: There are times when you may displease John and he is at a loss regarding how to punish you ... the wolf is out, it is too hot to swat. These specific and tricky situations often arise from hurt feelings ...
John ...Claire, who is your favorite, mommy or daddy
Claire ... Mommy
Me ... JOHN! We don't have to have favorites in this family, we are brimming with love
John ... Claire, you said daddy?
Claire ... No, Mommy
John ... Well then! I don't like you any more. I like Ava.
Me ... John! Oh forget it.
Me ... Claire, daddy likes you very much, he is just ...
I am Public Relations director for the one of the world's most PR resistant figures. Daddy is tired, Daddy is trying to concentrate, daddy doesn't understand little girls, daddy is ... Chinese? In any case, I think by the time he gets around to the seventh or eighth child, he won't be so out of his depth. If you are interested in adopting earlier versions, act now! Children are going fast!!!
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Two Weeks
Yes, I have made it through eight and a half months to the final two weeks. The problem now is that I have been SAYING "two weeks" for over a week, ever since one day fewer (not less) than three weeks. As you can imagine, this is not the recipe for making time fly by. Many times each day I stop to contemplate how many days remain ... for example, the math for today ...
[The day before my sceduled C (I will not be waiting through THAT day!), 28 - today's date, 14 = 14 days / 7 days = two weeks]. Around 5pm, I will adjust the math to reflect today as "practically over" so that I will be once again likely giving in to the urge to round (drastically) down to "one week left to go!" Help me, please help me.
For those of you who have not experienced pregnancy, I urge you to not judge me. To help you better empathasize, I will break pregnancy down into, not three trimesters (which suggests the three are equal periods of time) but into three PHASES ...
- PHASE I: wow, am I really pregnant?? Lasts 24 hours
- PHASE II: how much "real life" activity can I continue without (hideously) deforming my child? Lasts six months
- PHASE III: gosh, am I really still pregnant and when does the time begin to "be gone before I know it?" Time varies. I am on year six.
To aggravate matters, my life has slowed to a crawl as my enormous belly makes it difficult to waddle to the refridgerator. I combine trips now, even from the kitchen table to the sink. I am a whizbang at efficiency of motion. My pre-existing children automatically look to others for assistance with everything but sitting on my lap. THAT I still do as well as I ever did, if you are old enough to climb on yourself. I say with such regularity "not now, mommy is tired" that Claire responds with an understanding nod "because Harriette is in your tummy." Should add ...
PHASE IV: How many times can I do this without emotionally deforming pre-existing children?
I know you (Dad) are wondering how this could possibly be so bad. Well let me tell you!
1) I cannot sleep face down, cannot roll over, at times I have questioned my ability to sit up. And yet, I find a way to hobble to the bathroom three or four times a night. The moaning and groaning was so loud two nights ago as I jerked across the eight feet to the bathroom door that John WOKE UP and mumbled "you ok?" He was asleep again before I answered but I thought "Wow, things have gotten bad!" This is the man who doesn't hear children crying, dogs barking, doorbells ringing in the night.
2) I am grossed out by my anatomy ... according to my OB, my stomach is up by my heart, my lungs are crushed up and back sort of between my shoulder blades, and (GROSSEST) my intestines are pushed in FRONT of my uterus. It is all too horrible to contemplate. Yuck! Imagine the poor bastard who had to discover all of this unpleasantry during the autopsy of a pregnant woman who "didn't make it". I think God would have been kind to design some kind of fleshous handbag for pregnant gals to sling around. Something NOT so ... embedded. Something cuter. That goes with shoes.
3) My new darling is getting so big in there that, the other day while I was collapsed on the nursery floor on my side (so C&A could climb and jump on me), Harriette was grinding her little heel on the floor-down side and it PINCHED like a mother! Yeeoow. Her feet are up under my ribcage and my sternum aches all day long. Sometimes I feel strange sensations on other things of mine in there (bladder? liver?? who knows) and wonder if she isn't trying to tickle me, the little rascal.
4) There is zero chance of John experiencing so little as five minutes of any of this. There is slightly less chance of him finding the time or focus to imagine it. The chances of me battering his pretty face are much much greater. I overheard him a few months ago (while still in PHASE II) that this has been "his hardest pregnancy so far". HIS. SO FAR. Oh that is classic. Sometimes, when I am extra angry, I like to quiz him about how many weeks pregnant "we" are just to see the look of fear pass across his face.
5) It is all SO FREAKIN' WORTH IT. This is the worst part becuase it absolutely dooms womankind to repeat, repeat, repeat.
Today, I am wearing one of those bicycle dude style rubber bracelets that says "I can do all things through he who strengthens me" Phil 4:13.
As an aside, Dad, I take issue with the theory of evolution. No woman ... NO WOMAN ... could survive this living in a cave. She would die of discomfort, or be thrown out to the wolves (because of the moaning/groaning), would be left hobbling miles behind her tribe to be eaten by saber tooth tigers. I am such a liability to everyone I know. If survival depended on it, I would be OUT.
[The day before my sceduled C (I will not be waiting through THAT day!), 28 - today's date, 14 = 14 days / 7 days = two weeks]. Around 5pm, I will adjust the math to reflect today as "practically over" so that I will be once again likely giving in to the urge to round (drastically) down to "one week left to go!" Help me, please help me.
For those of you who have not experienced pregnancy, I urge you to not judge me. To help you better empathasize, I will break pregnancy down into, not three trimesters (which suggests the three are equal periods of time) but into three PHASES ...
- PHASE I: wow, am I really pregnant?? Lasts 24 hours
- PHASE II: how much "real life" activity can I continue without (hideously) deforming my child? Lasts six months
- PHASE III: gosh, am I really still pregnant and when does the time begin to "be gone before I know it?" Time varies. I am on year six.
To aggravate matters, my life has slowed to a crawl as my enormous belly makes it difficult to waddle to the refridgerator. I combine trips now, even from the kitchen table to the sink. I am a whizbang at efficiency of motion. My pre-existing children automatically look to others for assistance with everything but sitting on my lap. THAT I still do as well as I ever did, if you are old enough to climb on yourself. I say with such regularity "not now, mommy is tired" that Claire responds with an understanding nod "because Harriette is in your tummy." Should add ...
PHASE IV: How many times can I do this without emotionally deforming pre-existing children?
I know you (Dad) are wondering how this could possibly be so bad. Well let me tell you!
1) I cannot sleep face down, cannot roll over, at times I have questioned my ability to sit up. And yet, I find a way to hobble to the bathroom three or four times a night. The moaning and groaning was so loud two nights ago as I jerked across the eight feet to the bathroom door that John WOKE UP and mumbled "you ok?" He was asleep again before I answered but I thought "Wow, things have gotten bad!" This is the man who doesn't hear children crying, dogs barking, doorbells ringing in the night.
2) I am grossed out by my anatomy ... according to my OB, my stomach is up by my heart, my lungs are crushed up and back sort of between my shoulder blades, and (GROSSEST) my intestines are pushed in FRONT of my uterus. It is all too horrible to contemplate. Yuck! Imagine the poor bastard who had to discover all of this unpleasantry during the autopsy of a pregnant woman who "didn't make it". I think God would have been kind to design some kind of fleshous handbag for pregnant gals to sling around. Something NOT so ... embedded. Something cuter. That goes with shoes.
3) My new darling is getting so big in there that, the other day while I was collapsed on the nursery floor on my side (so C&A could climb and jump on me), Harriette was grinding her little heel on the floor-down side and it PINCHED like a mother! Yeeoow. Her feet are up under my ribcage and my sternum aches all day long. Sometimes I feel strange sensations on other things of mine in there (bladder? liver?? who knows) and wonder if she isn't trying to tickle me, the little rascal.
4) There is zero chance of John experiencing so little as five minutes of any of this. There is slightly less chance of him finding the time or focus to imagine it. The chances of me battering his pretty face are much much greater. I overheard him a few months ago (while still in PHASE II) that this has been "his hardest pregnancy so far". HIS. SO FAR. Oh that is classic. Sometimes, when I am extra angry, I like to quiz him about how many weeks pregnant "we" are just to see the look of fear pass across his face.
5) It is all SO FREAKIN' WORTH IT. This is the worst part becuase it absolutely dooms womankind to repeat, repeat, repeat.
Today, I am wearing one of those bicycle dude style rubber bracelets that says "I can do all things through he who strengthens me" Phil 4:13.
As an aside, Dad, I take issue with the theory of evolution. No woman ... NO WOMAN ... could survive this living in a cave. She would die of discomfort, or be thrown out to the wolves (because of the moaning/groaning), would be left hobbling miles behind her tribe to be eaten by saber tooth tigers. I am such a liability to everyone I know. If survival depended on it, I would be OUT.
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