Author Archives: Cindy

Four.

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Catie is 4 years old today. FOUR. I can’t really wrap my head around that.

How on earth did we get from this:
baby and mama

To this:
say cheese!

To this:
I think she likes it

To this?
Can't wait for her birthday party on Saturday!

I wanted to try to sum up everything that’s different about Catie now from a year ago, but I can’t. She’s just… such a person. She’s smart and she’s hilariously funny and oh my lord she never stops talking for a second.

This morning was one of those rare occasions that she happened to sleep past 7:30, so I crawled into her bed next to her, rubbed her back, and whispered the “Happy Birthday” song in her ear until she woke up. I would normally enjoy letting her sleep in, but I just needed to nuzzle her hair and see that first sleepy-headed smile of the day.

Catie's self-portrait

Happy birthday, my Catie-bug. I love you so, so much.

a little Monday whining

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I feel really “off” lately. I can’t quite put my finger on it, it’s not quite a full-blown depression or anything that severe, but there are a lot of small things that are adding up to make me feel like I’m not myself. Like:

1. I’ve hit the point of pregnancy where I can no longer sleep comfortably for long periods (examples: I have to pee, the baby is kicking, my hip hurts, whatever), so I’m really freaking exhausted all the time.

2. Pregnancy hormones are making me a weepy and grouchy mess, which I hate. I spend way too much time either completely irritable, or on the verge of tears. I like to be in control of my feelings, so I’m not a fan of this.

3. Related to the hormone mess: I feel puffy and fat, and even my skin feels stretched tight, like it doesn’t know what to do with these changes. I don’t feel like a glowing pregnant Earth Mother type. I feel ugly, and I feel dry and itchy all over. I don’t feel like I “own” my body, if that makes sense. It’s like my body has been hijacked by some mysterious creature and I just have to put up with it for several more months while things get progressively more miserable.

4. I miss Dave. We live together and work at the same company, but it feels like we don’t see other very much. Weird, right? Well, case in point: he had a massive deadline that was due today, so he worked all weekend. And I mean, like, he worked: he drank coffee and didn’t sleep for 2 days. (He took a two-hour nap on Sunday afternoon. That was the only sleep he had between Saturday morning and Monday morning.) I know it was stuff that he needed to finish, but it makes me worry about his health when he pulls all-nighters like that. We basically barely spoke to each other all weekend because I wanted to leave him alone to get his work done, and I spent a lot of time corralling Catie to keep her quiet so she wouldn’t disturb him either. It sucked.

5. The anxiety of “holy crap, this 2nd baby is really on her way, and how on earth am I going to juggle two kids and a full-time job?” is starting to sink in. Plus all of the stereotypical stuff that goes with that – the fear that I’ll be “less” of a mom to Catie once the baby is here, that I’ve maxed out my capacity for love and won’t bond with this new baby, etc. Stupid stuff that I know – I KNOW – isn’t true. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying about it now.

I had an OB appointment this morning, and I talked about a lot of this stuff with my doctor. I told him that I think that the majority of my issues are environmental and not physiological. I’m pretty sure most of it can be filed under, “This too shall pass.” He said that it’s good that I’m aware of it and talking about it, and he wants me to let him know if it starts to feel like something we need to address more seriously.

I don’t want anybody reading this to worry about me. I’ll be ok, and if it feels like things aren’t getting better, then I absolutely will discuss it with my doctor and take it from there. I’m not naive, and I know enough about depression to know when to ask for help.

Today, though, I just needed to vent. Thanks for listening.

Mommy FAIL, number oh-who-knows

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This morning marks one of my – admittedly many – parenting lows.

Catie was dragging her feet about getting ready for daycare, and I was rushing because I was late (as I always am). I was so aggravated with all of her various stalling techniques, and I was just tired and grouchy on top of that.

So, when she said she needed to pee and that I had to come to the bathroom with her, I was irritated. She knows how to do everything by herself, she does not need assistance. And most of the time, she’ll go on her own with no issues. But every now and then, she’ll hem and haw about how she’s scared or that she needs help, and she won’t go until she eventually has an accident. I didn’t have time to wait out her stubborn streak this morning, so I stomped into the bathroom with her.

Relevant side note: my mom got Catie a subscription to Highlights magazine, because she thought Catie would like the puzzles and it would encourage her to learn to read. Catie loves her magazine, but she wants to flip through it while she’s on the potty, “since that’s what Mommy does.” (Don’t judge me. We have a subscription to Entertainment Weekly. Where else would I read it?)

So, after she finished peeing, she was still looking at her magazine, and I was annoyed because I’m all, “Ok, now let’s wipe, flush, wash hands, and get moving!”

But she was still stalling, so in aggravation, I… yanked the magazine out of her hands.

And I, um, didn’t realize how tightly she was holding the magazine…

So, I essentially gave my kid a papercut on her finger.

She started to cry, but then when she was her finger was bleeding, she freaking lost it. She was wailing, huge tears pouring down her face, and screaming, “You cut me, Mommy! Youuuuu cuuuuut meeee!!!!”

Of course, you know this is the exact moment when the phone rings, right? It was someone from our bank, and I have no idea what it was about because I couldn’t hear a thing. The poor person on the other end of the phone just heard my screaming kid and me saying, “Sorry this isn’t a good time, call back in 10 minutes!”

I felt awful. I apologized to Catie about 10,000 times, and gave her a ton of hugs and kisses to make up for it. We rummaged around until I found some Toy Story Band-Aids – and can I say, thank God I bought those, because I’m not sure anything else would’ve calmed her down as quickly. But suddenly having Woody and Jessie on her finger made everything all better.

We set off for daycare (the person from the bank never called back… oh well, they have my cell number if it’s important!), and I told Catie’s daycare teacher what happened and how awful I felt. She’s a mom, so she gets it. Before I left, I saw Catie sitting in the corner of the room with one of her little friends, showing her the Band-Aid on her finger and telling her the story of How Mommy Gave Her A Boo-Boo.

Sigh.

I tell you, some days, this whole parenting gig is really rough.

35

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I turned 35 yesterday. I suppose I should be happy, since I now finally qualify for that “advanced maternal age” flag that’s already on my chart at my OB’s office. (Side rant: who on earth came up with that phrase? It makes me feel like one of those 60 year-old women who has her own grandbabies through IVF. It’s CREEPY.)

Anyway, you know, it’s fine. Everybody gets older, yadda yadda. I’m not exactly having a mid-life crisis about it over here.

And I have to say, one of the coolest things about social media? All the “happy birthday” wishes you get on Twitter and Facebook. That’s pretty awesome.

It was really nice that my birthday fell on a Sunday this year. We went out for breakfast, where Catie kept Dave and me entertained by making all kinds of funny faces.

Catie at breakfast

Catie making funny faces

Catie making funny faces

Funny Catie

(Lest you think my child is always this adorable and charming, I have to add that this was a TOTAL 180 from the night before, in which she and I stopped at a local pizzeria to pick up some dinner, and she was rude and insufferable the entire time we were there. Three year-olds are unpredictable, man.)

After breakfast, we walked around downtown Apex for a while. We’ve lived here for two and a half years, and we’d never done that before. Dave and I have talked a few times about how we don’t really feel as connected to this area as we did in Seattle, and I think a lot of it is our own fault, for not making the effort. And it turns out? The old-timey downtown part of our town is really cute, even though most of the shops were closed because it was Sunday. It didn’t matter, it was a gorgeous day outside, and the walk was nice. And we’ll be sure to do it again sometime when the stores are open, because there are a ton of neat places that we’d like to check out.

We hit the grocery store and headed home, where I got Catie settled on the couch with a Scooby-Doo movie, and I got my favorite part of my entire day: A NAP. I almost never take naps, and it seems to be something that pregnant ladies desperately need, so that was fabulous.

When I woke up, Catie and I put on our matching aprons and made my birthday cake together; she’s turning into quite a little sous-chef, that kid. It was strawberry with white frosting and pink decorations – guess who picked THAT out? Then she told me what the cake should say:

My birthday cake
“Happy birthday Mommy. Love, Catie.”

Um, sorry, Dave? There wasn’t room to fit his name on there anyway.

I have to add, this is NOT the first example of how horrible my handwriting is when it comes to writing things in frosting. Witness the cake I made the first year that Dave and I were dating (that’s 2004, for those of y’all keeping track):

Yeah. And he married me anyway. (After he asked me why I drew intestines on his cake – it was supposed to be a heart!!)

And now you know why we’ll be ordering Catie’s cake for her birthday party in two weeks.

Later, I got my present from Dave. He always gives really awesome gifts, and this year was no exception: I got a treadmill! Well, technically I got a photo of a treadmill because the real one is stuck in a snowstorm somewhere in the midwest, but it’s on its way here! But I’ve been asking for a treadmill for ages, so that was perfect.

The thing is, I loved doing the Couch-to-5K last year, and I want to start it up again after Baby 2.0 is born. But I am also a big whiny baby about running if the weather is anything less than perfect. If it’s too hot or too cold, I’m probably not going to do it. And I learned last year that I actually do like running on a treadmill, but I tend to get lazy about it if I have to get dressed, find my membership card, drive 10 minutes to the gym, etc. So the idea is that having the treadmill in the house will force me to stop making excuses. (That actually does work with me too, it’s why I’m much more likely to stick with a workout DVD than a gym class.) Plus, I figure that with two kids in the house, it might just be easier for me to squeeze in a quick workout if I can do it without leaving the premises.

So, treadmill! Yay!

We finished off the night with burgers, fries, birthday cake (of course) and “The Social Network,” which was a really good movie.

All in all? 35 is pretty good so far. No complaints here.

20 weeks

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Today was my 20-week ultrasound. Everything looks great, and Baby 2.0 is most definitely a GIRL. (She wasn’t shy at all about showing off her bits. That’s my girl!)

Baby #2 at 20 weeks

My favorite picture of her, doing a little “Fight the Power” fist raise. Mama’s little rebel.

Now Dave and I get to start arguing about names. I have one name that I love-love-LOVE, and I feel like it’s totally perfect, but Dave isn’t sure about it. So I have a list of about 20 other names that I also kinda like (even though they’re not my first choice), and we can sit down and haggle it out.

Of course, we didn’t officially decide on Catie’s name until after she was born. (It was one of 2 or 3 that we were still juggling.) I’d like to avoid that particular stress this time around, if possible.

And, uh, whenever we do decide, don’t expect me to announce it. Because I’m sorry, but I really don’t want everybody putting in their two cents about it. I’ve heard enough of that, “Oh, I knew a girl named [whatever] and she was a horrible bitch” stuff. No need for that.

I did, however, ask Catie what she thinks we should name the baby. She offered up two ideas:
1) She said we should name her Catie, “because that’s a pretty name, right, Mommy?” Well, yes, that’s why we chose it the first time. I told her that we probably wouldn’t do that because it could get really confusing.
2) She suggested we call her Baby. I told her that we probably will call her that at first, but that she still needs her own name.

So, that was useless. Never ask a 3 year-old for baby name advice, let me tell you.

Oh well, 20 more weeks (give or take) to figure it out. Wish us luck!

somebody else MUST remember this too?

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When I was really little – and I’m thinking that this was when my granddad was still alive, so I’m talking like 5 years old and younger – I remember that there was a very special treat that we only got at my grandparents’ house: Donald Duck Juice.

I’ve thought about this for years. I remember that Donald Duck Juice came in tiny glass bottles, but I couldn’t even remember what it was – orange juice? Grape soda? Did we have it with breakfast or lunch? Why was it only at my grandparents’ house? (Most likely answer: because my mom would’ve deemed it too expensive and a silly sales gimmick, meanwhile my grandmother loved nothing more than indulging her only three grandkids.)

But was there even such a thing as Donald Duck Juice? Did I imagine this? How come I’ve never seen it or heard of it since then? Was it just a silly name that my grandmother made up for our benefit?

Then yesterday, I was at the grocery store, looking for citrus juice because it’s another crazy pregnancy craving I’m having (pineapple, grapefruit, orange juice… I want them ALL). Lo and behold, I did a double take, and I almost burst into tears right there in the juice aisle.

Donald Duck Juice

Donald Duck Juice. It actually exists. Sure it’s in cans instead of bottles now, but that is the stuff.

I didn’t care that it was $3 for a 6-pack of tiny cans, I bought them anyway because dude, that is a piece of my childhood right there.

(Oh, and the missing 4 cans in that photo? Are currently IN MAH BELLEH. They were delicious.)

When I went to check out, the cashier was an older guy in his 40s, and he said, “Wow, they still make this stuff? I haven’t seen it since I was a kid!” I was all, “I KNOW!! Can you believe it???” I think I might have freaked him out with my Juice Enthusiasm.

I called everyone in my family afterward – my parents both remembered it, but my sister didn’t remember it at all and my brother only barely did. So weird, the way our memories work and the things that stick with us throughout the years.

Does anybody else remember Donald Duck Juice? Was it just a Southern thing? Or do y’all all think I’m completely insane now? (Entirely possible, I suppose.)