This morning Justin took the truck, even though I would need it for bringing my cousin, Jill, and her daughter, Meghan, to the airport. Turns out he needed 2 vehicles (our truck and the minivan he was renting) for picking up the students from Alaska and their chaperones, and all their luggage.

Now shoving Jill’s gigantic suitcase, stroller, and Meghan’s infant seat into my car wouldn’t have been a big deal except that I didn’t send Cooper to school because he had his 1-year check-up today (22 lbs 8 oz, and 30.5 inches tall…50th and 75th percentile, respectively), so his carseat needed to remain. And since Justin wouldn’t be picking up the Alaskan group until after 5pm at the airport the OPPOSITE direction of our house, I had to pick up Gavin, so I couldn’t dump his carseat out of the car, either.

We ended up putting Cooper in Gavin’s seat (since he can be forward-facing), putting Meghan in Cooper’s seat, and shoved her infant seat on its side in-between the two carseats. The stroller and suitcase didn’t quite fit in my trunk and we don’t have bungee cords…but we thankfully had some rachet straps that worked out (after Jill and I figured out how to work them…ha ha!)

I really don’t know if the Fire Marshall has jurisdiction over my car, but if he did, I think we were cuttin’ it close.

“My” Meghan…she’s just a few days shy of 3 months old.

I know…too friggin’ cute. Until he popped her in the head twice with that rattle before I could set down the camera and rescue Meghan. He wasn’t jealous…just curious and wanted to touch her. With a rattle.

Cooper sitting with Jill (for about half a second…).

I can hardly believe it’s been a year already. It’s certainly been a busy one…seemingly busier and harder than Gavin’s first year. Odd, since you’d think with your second child, everything would be a bit easier.

At my initial consultation when I was first pregnant, I asked the Nurse Practitioner since I had already had a very large baby with a considerable amount of damage to my undercarriage, and statistically subsequent babies are larger than the first, if it was possible for me to have an induction at 39 weeks. She replied that sure, they do it all the time for 2nd and 3rd pregnancies (which makes me thing at 4th pregnancies the kid just falls out on their own). So I felt reassured that I would not be crawling to my 41st week with this baby.

Again, I had a very easy pregnancy. In fact, it was easier than the last one because my blood pressure stayed low and only went up a little bit in the last couple weeks before Cooper’s birth. I did have issues with pre-term contractions that started about 6 weeks before, but my doctor put me on work restriction so that I would cause a pile-up on the highways I commute. So the last 5 weeks of my pregnancy I sat working from home, which did help keep the contractions down to a minimum (though were still getting some as often as once every two hours). I was lonely, a little bored, and had much easier access to food than if I was at the office.

So even though I ate a little bit better than my first pregnancy (well, except for that Chik-Fil-A addition I had: 12-piece chicken nugget meal with Fries, Cole-Slaw, and Extra-Large Sweet Tea), I started eating a more once I got home. By the time I weighed-in right before I had Cooper, I again, just as in my pregnancy with Gavin, gained 37lbs and my waist was 43 inches. However, since I didn’t have any water retention and swelling, all 37lbs were my own and not blamed on water.

I had my check-up at 38 weeks, and even though I was still having some contractions, I was only 2cm dilated, so I reminded the doctor about the promise made to me 8 months prior. On my way out, I got myself scheduled for Thursday, July 12th, just in case I didn’t progress on my own. I had my pre-induction appointment on Tuesday and was 2-3cm, so I was told I didn’t need to get the prostaglandin gel this time around. I quite relieved because I didn’t want as crabby as when I was going to the hospital to have Gavin.

Thursday morning we got up, called the hospital to make sure they could take us. We were cleared for entry, so I got up and took a shower, took some time to do my hair a little and put on some waterproof mascara, ate my contraband applesauce, got Gavin ready and made sure his overnight bag had everything and anything he could possibly want for his first night away from home without either Justin or me (he got to stay with his best friend, Ainsley). We drop him off at Dave and Kari’s house and he was upset about us leaving, so Kari got him to go help her wake up Ainsley. Turns out while we were at the hospital, he was having a good ol’ time playing with Ainsley and I think he even went to Chuck E. Cheese.

So we get to the hospital a little later than we were supposed to (like 35 minutes later), and as I’m walking up to the nurses station to check in, I realized I was very comfortable, non-chalant, and even chipper. Thought maybe it was because I knew what to expect, but then also realized I wasn’t in labor yet this time around, so I didn’t have that misery making me mean and nasty. We get into our room, laugh at how the baby fry-warmer is located in the closet (our other room we had down the hall 3 years before, had the fry-warmer in a corner), and I even posed for a couple pics, mostly because we didn’t think anyone would believe us when we told them I was in a calm and happy mood.

They got me hooked up to my 5 bazillion miligram IV bag of penicillan, since I flunked my GBS test, and I sat there getting sanitized for a good 3 hours. Afterwards, they ramped up my pitocin and I got my epidural, since the anesthesiologist was apparently doing nothing more than roaming the floor looking for a back to poke. Seriously, the nurses came in 6 times to ask if I wanted it yet…since I wasn’t in any pain, I didn’t feel the need. But when they mentioned that he might not be immediately available when I was ready for him (read: climbing the walls), and I was sure I was getting one (yes, please!), to maybe get it now. So I did. And let me tell you, since I wasn’t in blinding agony, I got to find out how much that epidural actually hurts! Well, not so much hurt as sting (don’t want to scare anyone away because OMG it is a godsend!). But it certainly did not tickle!

Once the epidural kicked in a little, they checked me and I was already 5cm dilated. I was thrilled, and also confused as to why my contractions weren’t getting very strong yet or why my water hadn’t broke by now. But my doctor came in a few minutes later with the monster crochet hook and broke it for me around 12:15pm. The nurses began coming in every half hour or so to check on, and usually raise, my pitocin. But I never felt too uncomfortable (yes, yes, I know I had a epidural, but you still feel a lot of pressure).

About 2pm, my contractions were actually starting to get uncomfortable a bit, and Cooper had moved again, and Justin and I had trouble finding him with the baby monitor…we had already rearranged the monitor on my belly a few times since my water broke because Cooper was moving around a bit more as my labor seemingly painlessly progressed. A different nurse than who was assigned came in to help us find Cooper’s heartbeat (my nurses were helping out with a delivery a couple doors down). She rolled me from one side, then the other (thankfully with my wonky epidural, I could actually use most of my left leg to help her heave my bulk around), and kept smearing more KY on my belly and moving the monitor around on it, pushing down a bit. She got a concerned look on her face, and put the oxygen mask on me, saying maybe by getting a bigger burst of oxygen into my body and bloodstream that it might help us locate his hearbeat easier since he seemed to have burrowed into my butt. She kept prodding and pushing and smearing and encouraging Large Calm Breathing on the mask.

I could feel her nervousness and I was starting to get anxious myself. I stole a glance at Justin behind me and he looked concerned, too. When she couldn’t locate Cooper’s heartbeat, she calmly said, “one minute, I’ll be right back.” I just nodded, not knowing if I needed to start panicking or if she was a newer Labor/Delivery nurse and needed more experienced help (our other assigned nurse was new to labor and delivery).

As she stepped out of our room, she hollared, “Claudia!” and I could hear the note of alarm in her voice and could hear her footsteps quicken before the door shut behind her. My heart started pounding wildly and I grabbed Justin’s hand as the tears and blubbering started. I’m not sure if I said anything coherant, but I remember making some sort of sound and being scared.to.death.

All these thoughts started racing through my head. I was terrified that something happened to Cooper, and was even more scared that if they did an emergency C-section that it might not happen in time.

Our nurses came in, and Claudia immediately checked me. She announced, “9, nearly 10cm! and bloody-show”. She instructed the other nurse to call my doctor. Claudia then looked at me, still seeing the panic on my face (I’m not sure if Justin still looked upset…I kind of had tunnel vision) and told us that the reason we couldn’t find his heart beat was because he had scootched so far down. My doctor then came in, verified Claudia’s assessment of my cervix, and sat with Justin and I, chatting amicably while the nurses scurried around getting everything ready.

My doctor looked at the clock and said, “we’re gonna have this baby in about 20 minutes…just want to give your cervix a little more time to make sure you’re a good solid 10 cm, then we’ll push.” Then she went on saying she remembered I was a “good pusher” and now that I knew what I was doing, she was fully expecting some championship pushing from me this time around. And since I was experienced, she offered to dial up my epidural and said that Claudia would help me know when to push in case I couldn’t feel the pressure, to which I agreed.

Just at 3pm, the doctor donned her haz-mat suit and we started pushing (after I reminded everyone that someone had to keep counting at all times while I was pushing, or else risk getting cussed-out). After about 5 pushes (with a brief pause in there while the doctor unwrapped Cooper’s double-wrapped umbilical cord), at 3:21pm, Cooper Josef was born. As my doctor was still suctioning out his mouth and getting his umbilical cord clamped and ready for Justin to cut it (so proud of you honey!), I was still sitting up in the stirrups, and elatedly announced to her (and half the hospital), “THAT was EASY!” And she replied, “I told you it would be! You are made to have babies!!” At which point Justin turned three shades of green and almost had to sit down.

Apparently I am made to have babies because while Cooper weighed less (8lbs 3 oz…11 oz less than Gavin), he was actually larger gestationally (he was born at 39 weeks and Gavin was born at 41 weeks). And Cooper’s head was larger than Gavin’s, yet I only required one stitch….not the many many stitches required after Gavin’s birth. And like most 2nd (or 3rd) births, the recovery period was much easier. Hell, on the day we came home, I realized that I not only needed to pick up my pain prescriptions, but some nursing pads and maxi pads. So instead of trying to explain to Justin which ones to choose, I just took the truck and shuffled off to Target all by my two-days-post-partum-self (left the Cooper at home with everyone there). Unfortunately, Cooper’s colic and my poor milk supply more than made up for the easy pregnancy and delivery. But I can hardly remember that aggravation now:

Last night, or rather, way early this morning, around midnight, I realized I forgot to make the mini-cupcakes I was planning to bring for Cooper’s class today. I got sucked into Twitter and Plurk for the n’th time this week and totally lost track of time. I figured at midnight that I was actually getting to bed early for the first time all week…but read Burgh Baby Mom’s post about homemade grilled pizza and thought, “OH CRAP!!!!”

I rushed through a few other computer-related things I needed to finish then went nuts.

• Pre-heated the oven, then saw the fine print on the cake mix indicating non-stick pans needed a lower temp.
• Mixed the eggs, water, and oil with the Funfetti cake mix by hand even though the mix called for an electric because I was terrified of waking up the whole house with my very noisy hand mixer. And I’m a rebel. No really, I am…went to TF South High School, home of the Rebels!
• I put the pan of mini-cupcakes in the oven, then realize I have NO idea how long to bake because the mix didn’t have time for mini-cupcakes. So I got to babysit the oven.
• Got Cooper’s cups of formula made for school while suspiciously eyeballing the rising cupcakes in the oven.
• Wiped down most of the horizontal surfaces in the kitchen. At least the ones not covered by dirty dishes or mail/papers.
• Since I got to babysit the oven, the dang timer went off three times and it is louder.than.sin.

I pulled them out and was arranging them in a dish to bring to the daycare when I heard Cooper fuss over the monitor. I froze…it was 12:30am. A minute later when he was done and quiet again, I realized that I had involuntarily hunched down behind the kitchen island and was holding my breath. I wonder what that says about my parenting. I mean, it made sense a few months back when I was putting some folded clothes away in his room and he stirred in his bed, that I dropped to the floor and crawled out of his room on my belly. A little extreme, but not for a mother tired of a baby getting up twice a night (at that point). Now that Cooper has been sleeping through the night since coming home from Chicago, I get a little testy when he rescinds on our agreement. And apparently it triggers some sort of Post Traumatic Stress response, as well.

The fiftieth time I checked on the little buggers…

No, I did not wipe down my stove…thank-you for asking.

YUM! Actually, I didn’t have a single one. And I did not frost them because while I love the teachers at daycare, I know that they stragetically give the kids the sweet treats at the end of the day, right before parents pick them up.

In preparation of friends and family coming into town and filling my house with fun and excitement in honor of Cooper’s 1st birthday on the 12th, we have been cleaning. And cleaning. And cleaning some more. And no, our house is still not all that clean because well, we’ve cleaned it like twice since Cooper was born. I might be exaggerating, but not by much.

Justin did some vacuuming and mopping; I’ve been tackling the bathrooms and the never-ending-piles-o-laundry (and really, WTH…every time I go to Target to pick up some more laundry supplies, they’ve stopped carrying whatever I’ve last bought AND they’ve rearranged the whole dang laundry aisle); we’ve been tag-teaming for dishes, toys, and general clutter (I admit, I am a clutter-monster and a pack-rat). So at least we’re getting somewhere so that come this weekend, we just need to do a few good wipe-downs of things and run the vacuum. Or so we hope. We’ll see how things go with weekend.
—————————————————
In other housekeeping news, Karen over at The Rocking Pony gave me this and I am tickled pink! I swear, she is one of the sweetest people I know.

I would like to pass it along to

• LaskiGal
• Sue over at As Cape Cod Turns
• Tranny Head
• LagLiv

—————————————————
I realized that due to Justin’s incredibly heavy work schedule in the past few weeks and my idiocy, we never updated you guys on the final say in Gavin’s Child Find testing, etc. The final decision was that he is about 6 months behind for Receptive Language (what he hears and understands), and about 11 or 12 months behind for Expressive Language (what says, his vocabulary, how easily is he understood by strangers). In other words his auditory processing is on par with that of a 3-1/2 year old boy and he speaks like a 3-year old. This has certainly explained a lot of our frustration in communicating with Gavin, and explains why when we ask him a question he sometimes gives us an answer that just isn’t quite right. Add in his stuttering, and it’s downright aggravating for all of us because he’s annoyed he can’t get his words out or get his point across or can’t understand why we keep asking him the same dang thing over and over. And for us…we just have a hard time seeing our child struggle, or hear his classmates speak so much better (or worse, hear children a year or younger have what seems to be better speaking and comprehension skills).

So thankfully we will have our IEP and will be starting services the first week of September. Three hours of therapy per month…well, technically in 3 weeks. The fourth week of the month is set aside for any additional help if needed or meeting with the teacher for in-depth discussions, etc. The neat thing is that it is going to be at the elementary school that he will be going to in Fall ‘09, so by the time he starts kindergarten he will be King of the Classroom and will know the school well.

This post started as a rant about the fight Justin and I had. But I realized that wasn’t appropriate to air that kind of laundry…at least not while he still reads my blog and has comments emailed to him. Suffice it to say it wasn’t pretty, complete with ugly words, and hurt feelings, and for what I think was the first time in nearly 10 years together, I retreated by myself to cool down. Usually I’m the one chasing Justin around the house, shouting like some crazed harpy.

But not this time. I was mad, I was wounded, and didn’t want it to get uglier than we had already allowed it to get, especially since the kids were right there.

I sat in our room working on laundry, watching something stupid on TV so that I could let my brain wander and sort out what was said, and what I was going to say once the kids were in bed, trying to formulate the best passive-aggressive remark to get my point across.

I finished up the laundry, put it away, and started running the water for the kids’ bath. Justin brought them up and, with very few words exchanged, we went to work scrubbing and rinsing them. I pulled Cooper out and got him dried off and into his jammies. I heard Justin doing the same for Gavin. I sat in the rocking chair to give Cooper his nightly cup of milk and snuggle, heart still hurting from the argument two hours before.

Instead of fidgeting around like usual, Cooper looked at me with those big slate-colored eyes of his, crawled up to put his head on my shoulder and nuzzled in my neck. We rocked for a good ten minutes, then I stood up and swayed to the lullabye music playing with Cooper while he kept cuddling and patting me, and stroking my arms, shoulders, and playing with my hair with his chubby little hands.

And I began crying. This little baby, not quite a year old, seemed to know I was hurting and took care of me the best way he knew how. God only knows how Cooper knew (actually, I think He had a lot to do with Cooper’s response to me). But I cried quietly, feeling the pain melt away, trying to not sob or sniff loudly lest I break the spell of my baby comforting his mother.