Four Going on Forty

This weekend, I noticed a bunch of strange children (by strange, I mean not kids I recognized from our neighborhood) playing in the mound of snow piled alongside the ends of our driveway. I was concerned mostly because they had tools with them: a pitchfork, a hammer, metal shovels. We're talking 7 year old girls, not teenagers. The fact that they were playing with metal tools in the snow on my property concerned me slightly. I let it go, since they weren't weilding the tools against each other, but rather were just chipping away at the snow.

I made the mistake of mentioning out loud that there were kids eating Mikie's snow (one of them was eating the snow, which is REALLY gross since it was the plowed snow). Mikie overheard and was beside himself. He immediately informed Mike and I that we had to go tell them it was HIS SNOW. I dismissed his request, arguing that I needed to eat lunch.

Mikie walked to the front door, and starts trying to open it. When he didn't succeed, he marched back to the garage, and opened it, mumbling "I'm going to take matters into my own hands."

At this point, Mike and I stifled our laughter long enough for Mike to convince him that he couldn't go outside without shoes on. And, that he shouldn't tell the girls to get out of his snow, but rather tell them that if they are going to play in his yard, could he play with them.

Eventually, he got dressed in snow clothes and went outside to play with the girls, with strict instructions that he could not leave our yard, and he couldn't set foot on the road. It may not have been the best idea we had, letting him go outside without us and play with girls, only one of whom we knew, who had metal tools. But, he did put the pitchfork down when Mike ran outside and told him he could only play with his plastic shovel. And, ultimately, he had fun and didn't get hurt.

One day, maybe he'll tell us where he picked up the phrase "I'm going to take matters into my own hands."

Love, The Trahans

How Big is Nibbles?

SOOO big!

Here are the facts:

When pregnant with Mikie, I gained 28 pounds. When he arrived (1 week early), he weighted 7 pounds.With Nibbles, I have already gained 30 pounds (yes, with 6 weeks remaining). And (as I am frequently told by friends and strangers alike), it shows:These facts alone would have been enough to convince me that Nibbles was going to be a "healthy" baby. That, coupled with my very realistic dream from 6 months ago (in which I gave birth to a red headed baby girl weighting 8-lbs, 13-ozs), have left me with the unshakeable feeling that she will be at least 8-lbs.

Try as I might to convince Mike and the obstetrician, no one would believe me. After all, neither Mike nor I weighted anywhere near 8-lbs at birth. I was severely ill for the first 20 weeks, not putting on any weight during that time. In fact, the obstetrician was concerned that she might not be thriving, and has sent us for numerous ultrasounds.

Until yesterday. Yesterday, we went in for another ultrasound. And, looking at the pictures, it seemed to me, that Nibbles had no space to move (I may have had inside information, since over the last couple of weeks, she hasn't moved more than some wiggles and kicks). Mike didn't agree, dismissing my fears with a comment about the picture being "zoomed in".However, when they finished, the technicians announced that everything looks great and her estimated weight is. . . 5 POUNDS 10 OUNCES!!!

Yes, my baby, in utero, weights more than the octuplets born in California. She weights more than my best friend's daughter at birth. Not only does she weight this much, IF I carry her all the way to 40 weeks and IF she gains a half pound a week that all the stupid pregnancy books say babies gain in your third trimester, she would weight approximately 8 POUNDS 10 OUNCES!!!

What does this mean? It means she is bigger than average. Technically, she (and my uterus) are measuring like a 36 week pregnant person, not 34 weeks. Don't get excited, they don't change your due date at this point. It just means she's big. And, they will watch us closely over the remaining 6 weeks. If she gets too big, they may induce me.

More importantly, this means that LAUREN WAS RIGHT! Even the doctor admitted she no longer is concerned about the whether the baby is "thriving". It's blantantly obvious that she is.

And, if she's born weighting anywhere close to 8-lbs, 13-ozs, I can promise that the entire hospital will hear the words "I TOLD YOU SO!" ringing through the halls of the maternity wing.

Love, The Trahans

How to Ruin a Perfectly Good Friday

Otherwise titled "Things You Never Say in Your Out Loud Voice". . .

In spite of my brief hospital stay, I was still unconvinced that I have acid reflux. So, I went back to my OB on Thursday morning and whined about being in pain and not being able to survive another 6+ weeks like this. Still determined that I have acid reflux, I scored ANOTHER prescription for some GI medicine. Unlike the Prilosec, I have to take this one four times a day, 30 minutes before eating or sleeping.

On a good day, anyone who knows me would agree I tend to be absent minded (which, I say is a sign of intelligence). The fact that I am insanely busy with a complex launch at work, and pregnant, is not helping my absent mindedness. I can recall what fragrance level and extract blend I am putting in each of 36 different products. But, I can't recall my zip code when asked by the cashier at a store.

So, the concept of recognizing that I will be hungry in 30 minutes and should take my medicine is difficult. Sure enough, before leaving for work, I realized I couldn't eat because I hadn't taken my medicine. The solution, take it now, leave in 10 minutes, stop at the McDonald's 20 minutes away for a Fruit & Yogurt parfait. This solves the breakfast issue, and keeps me from getting to work 40 minutes late.

As I pulled up to the McDonald's window to grab my order, the FEMALE clerk passes me my juice, passes me my bag, and asks "Are you having twins?" I fought back every urge to cry, throw my yogurt in her face, ask for her manager, etc. and replied "No" before driving away. I mean, I may be big (or "all belly" as the doctor's keep telling me), but I don't think I look like the opening theme to Jon & Kate Plus Eight.

Lesson to anyone out there (especially men), avoid making statements like these in your out loud voices. You run the risk of insulting someone who isn't pregnant, or worse, ruining a very pregnant, very hormonal woman's day.

Happy Weekend!

Love, The Trahans

Labor & Delivery

Not to be upstaged by my four year old, Nibbles and I spent 19 hours in Labor & Delivery last weekend for (wait for it). . . ACID REFLUX. Yes, evidently the stabbing pain in my upper abdomen turned out to be acid reflux. Don't get me wrong, I was in no way naive enough to think that I was in labor. All I knew was I wanted to die. And, the OB on call decided I should come in for observation.

Granted, when I agreed to go to the hospital, I never imagined I would be there for 19 hours. Like my past visits, I figured I would: lay around for 3 hours, hooked up to fetal monitors, be told everything was fine, and be sent home. That wasn't the case.

When we arrived (mom + baby, Mike, and Mikie), they ran all these tests because they thought I had gall stones or some issue with my pancreas. Evidently, gall stones is common in pregnant women. They had to call a radiologist in after hours to do an ultrasound of my gall bladder, pancreas, and kidneys, only to tell me that they were normal (well, my gall bladder is "thick" but no stones). Mikie was having a good time watching Scooby Doo in Spanish on Telemundo (no cartoons on English channels at 8pm) while resting in the "dad bed" (a chair that unfolds into a twin bed).

After clearing me for gall stones, they told me they wanted me to stay overnight because I was obviously in pain and they couldn't determine why (evidently, there is a blood test that confirms you are in pain). So, they sent Mike and Mikie home, gave me morphine and left me to sleep.

While morphine did a great job of helping the pain, I did not sleep. Nibbles decided to wake up around the same time they hooked me back up to monitors and gave me morphine. And, as we have determined in the past, she does NOT like having anything on her "house". Don't rest your hands or a book on my stomach. And, DON'T strap fetal monitors to it. Not only does she hate those monitors, but she seems to have spent the last eight months learning kick boxing. Since she is too big to move away from the monitors, she kicked with all her might until she succeeded in dislodging the external monitors. Alarms would sound, a nurse would come in, reposition the monitor, and tighten the strap even tighter. And, somewhere a bell went off signalling the start of round two. This went on until they gave me a second shot of morphine, which was enough to knock me out. So, if she continued straight through the night, I couldn't tell you.

On Monday morning, they brought in a gastroenterologist who, after asking a series of questions and pressing on my stomach, determined that I had acid reflux. Or an ulcer. But, since no one wanted to sedate and scope me, and I don't have any family history, they decided acid reflux was a good diagnosis.

With nothing better to do, I made note of all the amusing comments made during my stay. My favorite was the question on the gastroenterologist's paperwork "Have you experienced any sudden weight loss?" As I looked at my massive mid section, I laughed and said, "No." She then looked up and realized the stupidity of the question and mumbled "I have to ask." It would be like asking "Do you think you may be pregnant?"

I also heard numerous comments like "you're all belly" which I have determined is the politically correct way to say "your abdomen is HUGE! I can't believe you have another 7 weeks."

One of the nurses, Rachel, is my new best friend because she was the first person to concur with my belief that Nibbles will be over 8-lbs. Of course, she didn't feel that 8-lbs was that big (her fourth child was 10-lbs 3-oz). The second OB on call also mentioned that the top of my uterus was "way up there" pressing on my esophagus because the baby is ready to come out (incidentally, he was also one of the "you're all belly" commenters).

So, I'm back home, counting down the last 6 weeks, praying Nibbles and I don't torture each other in the process. Wish us luck; I fear she may have inherited my "strong will" (or, as Mike calls it, "fiery temper"). If so, it may be a long 6 weeks.

Love, The Trahans

The Family Trip to the Obstetrician's

Or, why Mikie will NOT be present at the birth of Nibbles. . .

Now that I'm past 30 weeks, my doctor's appointments are now scheduled every two weeks. This meant one fell smack in the middle of our Christmas vacation. Ideal, because we didn't have to worry about leaving work. The downside: Mikie would be home with us, not at daycare. And, while we could have driven him to daycare for the afternoon, neither of us was excited about the prospect of driving an extra 2 hours just to have a free afternoon.

Recognizing that these appointments last all of 15 minutes, Mike assured me that we would be fine bringing him with us. So, on the 30th, we all drove to the doctor's office. While most days we are the only people sitting in the waiting room, this time it was standing room only. And, all the crayons seemed to have mysteriously disappeared, leaving Mikie to entertain himself. How does Mikie entertain himself? By running laps around the crowded waiting area. I didn't think the parents of the 6 week old were too amused, until I heard them refer to their four year old son. So, hopefully, their daughter was already used to being trampled by crazy boys.

Thankfully, the nurse called us back, minimizing everyone's exposure to Mikie. And, she reassured me that we weren't the only people making their OB appointment a family affair for the holiday (I have no idea if she was lying, I just wanted to believe her). So, after peeing and the torturous weigh-in, I joined the boys in the exam room.

It's bad enough that Mikie can't sit still in an exam room. First, he INSISTS on sitting on the doctor's stool. I mean, what kid wouldn't. . . it's small, backless, on wheels, and spins around. If you're a kid with a vivid imagination, it's a mode of transportation. Knowing the doctor has never used this stool in the 2 years I have seen her, I could have cared less if Mikie wheeled himself around the room on it, so long as he was quiet. After all, we weren't at the pediatrician's office where I run the risk of being deemed a bad parent. We were at the obstetrician's office. Their goal is to give us a kid, not to care what we do with them once they arrive.

Mike, however, being a more responsible parent then myself, tried desperately to keep Mikie off that stool. This involved holding (restraining) Mikie on his lap. Which put Mikie at the perfect level to touch everything on the counter. Now, while all my appointment entailed was measuring my abdomen and listening to the baby's heartbeat, other people go for more involved exams. And, like any efficient doctor's office, certain equipment was laying on the counter in preparation for those other appointments. To Mike and my joint horror, Mikie IMMEDIATELY grabbed the tube of "toothpaste" (aka KY Jelly). Fighting back laughter, we sternly told him to put everything down and sit quietly. Before we got smart enough to bribe him with a game of tic-tac-toe on the iPhone, he also grabbed a miniature replica of a cervix.

Thankfully, the doctor came in and we were put out of our misery in a matter of minutes. Mikie seemed intrigued by Nibbles' heartbeat (we had to explain to the doctor why he calls her Nibbles). And, we made it out of the office before he grabbed the stirrups (although, he did go after the exam light).

All told, we were in and out within 30 minutes. However, that short period of time was enough to cement in our minds that there was NO WAY Mikie would ever attend another doctor's appointment with us again, let alone attend the birth of his sister.

One day, when he is married, we will have this story to embarrass him with. So, it wasn't a total loss.

Love, The Trahans

The Trahan's Rockin' New Year's Eve

Being 31 weeks pregnant, I wasn't expecting to have some spectacular New Year's Eve. For one, I am 31 weeks pregnant, which means I can't drink and I am exhausted all the time. So, even if I WAS awake at midnight, it's not like we would be ringing in 2009 with a big bottle of champagne.

Add to this my raging head cold, and New Year's Eve was pretty much destined to be boring. Never the less, we made an effort. Mike bought a bottle of sparkling peach flavored cider at Target. Topped off with the party hats, noise makers, and light-up champagne flutes from last year, it felt almost festive (if you can neglect the fact that we were at home, alone, and I was still wearing my PJs and bathrobe, surrounded by tissues).

Shortly after the ball dropped, we attempted to go to sleep. By attempted, I mean Mike fell asleep and Nibbles kicked me to remind me that she was awake. So, I stayed awake watching HGTV until around 1am.

At 2am, Mikie came in and announced his belly hurt. My initial reaction was "Of course it does; you fell asleep 2 hours early before eating dinner. It's hungry." But, before I could wake up enough to say this, he threw up all over Mike's side of the bed. For those readers who don't have children, a sick child is like a fire alarm going off. The entire house goes into crisis mode. One parent gets the chore of cleaning and comforting sick child while the second parent gets the task of cleaning everything else. Since Mike needed to shower too (having been vomited on), I earned the task of cleaning everything else.

Luckily, we had just put the waterproof mattress pad on our bed (Mike being paranoid that I will go into labor early and my water will break at home). So, the mattress was clean. As was the comforter. Mike's pillow, the sheets, carpet, and box spring were not so lucky.

After stripping our bed, checking Mikie's bed (which was thankfully, unscathed), cleaning the carpet, and starting a load of laundry (at 2:45am), I now had to make the beds. Not just ours (which is hard to do by yourself when you're big as a house), but also set up an air mattress in our bedroom for Mikie in case he got sick again. Which was a good move on my part, since, Mikie continued to vomit about every 20 to 30 minutes. And, little sips of juice weren't helping.

By 4:45am, we decided it was time to go to the ER. This was problematic since we got 8 inches of snow the day before and had not bothered to clear the driveway. So, Mike fired up the snow blower and cleared an exit while Mikie and I put clean PJs and jackets on.

Trying to look at the bright side (because, what else can you do at 5am), I realized this was good practice for when I do go into labor. We learned a couple useful things during our trip: First, it takes 10-15 minutes to clear half of the driveway of 8 inches of snow at an ungodly hour of the morning when the temperature is 5 degrees F. Second, you have to cross a set of train tracks to get to the hospital. And, at 5am, the gate is closed in case a freight train MIGHT pass through. The train doesn't come through every day, although, when it does, it is consistently between 4 and 5am. . . a fact I know because it keeps me from getting back to sleep after peeing. After waiting 5 minutes for a train which wasn't coming (during which time Mikie got sick AGAIN), Mike was at his whits end. He got out of the car and looked down the tracks. Not seeing a train, he quickly hopped back in the car, and drove around the barricades and over the tracks.

Long story short, a ride that would typically take 15-20 minutes to drive takes more like 50 minutes when you include snow and trains.

Once we arrived at the hospital, we spent 3 hours in the ER. It wouldn't have been too bad if Mike and I weren't EXHAUSTED from lack of sleep. And, it may have been better if Mikie (who had a bed to rest in) was allowed to drink anything. Because, after fighting to get him to take a Zofran (without anything to wash it down with), he was screaming about being thirsty. And, good parents that we are, Mike and I were munching on Dunkin Donuts and juice while our 4 year old was restricted from consuming anything. Eventually, the nurse broke down and gave him ice chips. And, by 8am, the doctor brought him a popsicle and discharged us.

The rest of our day was spent policing Mikie: he couldn't eat anything for 6 hours. He couldn't drink more than a sip of Pedialite every 5 minutes. He couldn't have milk for 2 days (which was the most devastating news to him). And, we tried desperately to keep him from running or bouncing. Even with the trampoline hidden, keeping Mikie Trahan from running and bouncing is like asking someone to stop breathing. It is impossible.

By Friday, Mike and I were so exhausted, I slept until noon. One of those really deep sleeps where your whole body feels like dead weight. Honestly, my immune system was so shot, I think I just shut down to recuperate. Luckily, aside from not being able to drink milk, Mikie seems fine.

So, while not the most "fun" New Year's Eve we've ever had, it was definitely far from boring.

(Note to self: book babysitter NOW for next New Year's to avoid repeating this one.)

Happy New Year!

Love, The Trahans

Christmas

After weeks of anticipation, Christmas finally arrived. I have to admit, it didn't really FEEL like Christmas. Santa brought me a lovely head cold on the 23rd, that left me vomiting and in bed on the 24th. This meant no Christmas Eve mass, and no Christmas Eve party at Gram's for Nibbles and I. So, after a quick dinner of leftover macaroni and cheese, Mike and Mikie left Nibbles and I home watching "The Santa Claus" while they ventured off to Rhode Island.In spite of only arriving home at 12:30am, Mikie seemed amazingly chipper when he awoke at 7:30 Christmas morning. As you can see in the video, he raced downstairs, with Mike and I trying to keep up with the cameras to catch his reaction. Somehow, in his excitement, he passed right by his two big presents to grab his new "Scooby Doo Mystery Machine" from Grandma Kerrie that he received the night before. We had to point out that there were "more presents" before he looked around and took stock in everything. The two big presents: a trampoline for bouncing on (instead of bouncing on the furniture), and the castle.We decided that we could have told Santa not to bother bringing anything else, because Mikie was not interested in most of his other gifts. He was ecstatic about all the "guys" that went with the castle (which Santa wrapped separately). Otherwise, as soon as he opened a present, he announced that he was going to go back and play with his castle. We also earned some classic comments like "It's just books" and "Not clothes again" (we only bought him ONE SWEATSHIRT). He was happier with the books come bedtime, but still hasn't worn the Puckman sweatshirt. For those who were curious, Mike DID find Red Sox tickets under the Christmas tree. I never made it out of the virtual waiting room (I even tried during my 3am wake-up-and-pee break). By December 14th, I broke down, went to ticketsnow.com (Ticketmaster's resale website) and paid double the face value for tickets to see the Red Sox play the Tampa Bay Rays in May. It seemed like a steal, given the fact that people were asking $650 for seats to see the Red Sox play the Yankees that retail for $50.

Nibbles made out as well. Mikie picked out a pair of Winnie-the-Pooh PJs in every girl's favorite color, pink (I still haven't managed to convince him that not all girls like pink). Mike bought her some non-pink clothes, including little jeans with flowers embroidered on them and a purple knit sweater. Auntie Katie and Marta also bought her pale blue fleece dress with polka dot fleece pants to go underneath that is Mikie's favorite outfit (because, even though it isn't pink, it IS fuzzy). In addition, she is now the proud owner of an NC State bib, which she can wear to match her good friend Anna Hudson.

We got an extra present late on Christmas Day when Grandma Pookie, Grand Da, Auntie Katie and Katie's boyfriend, Marta, all arrived at our house. Since Katie also had a head cold, we spent the majority of their visit lounging around watching Mikie play with his presents. We had a big "Faux Christmas" dinner on the 26th, complete with ham, au gratin potatoes, sweet potatoes, asparagus, corn, crescent rolls, pineapple, applesauce, and apple pie for desert. I realize that you probably didn't care what we ate for dinner, but, I'm pregnant, so most of my excitement lately centers around food.

Hope you all had a happy (and healthy) Christmas.

Love, The Trahans