Amusing Anecdotes

Lately, my life consists of working, eating, sleeping, and emptying my frequently full bladder. I don't anticipate that this will change much in the next four weeks, so I apologize for my continued laziness when it comes to blogging. . .

I figured I would take a night off from working and post some amusing anecdotes before my brain turns to mush.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 30TH

Mikie was building with Legos, and wanted me to build him a firetruck. Having little motivation, I reminded Mikie that he had a firetruck in the basement. Of course, volunteering that information meant I earned a trip to the cold basement to look for it.

While I was searching, a little voice yelled down to me:

Mikie: "Mom, you need to stop getting so big because you won't be able to fit in the door."

Mom: "Mikie, I'm not THAT big."

Mikie: "But, Mom, if you get bigger, you will have to live in a different house because you can't get in the door."

Mom: "Seriously, I'm not that big. I'll still be able to get in the door."

In my head, I'm picturing the people they show with Richard Simmons being lifted out of their house with a forklift. . .

Mikie: "Okay, but Nibbles better come out soon so you don't get any bigger."

LATER THAT DAY

Mike, Mikie and I stopped at Wendy's for lunch on our way to the store. Mikie had just finished his lunch, and was keeping me company while Mike stood in line to buy him a Frosty. Out of the blue, Mikie turns to me and announces, "Mom, that meal was exquisite."

Don't get me wrong, I love Wendy's as much as the next guy. More even. But, never has the word "exquisite" come to mind when describing my meal.

Mike later explained to me that the alphabet book Steve Martin wrote uses the words "extraordinary" and "exquisite" to describe other words beginning with E.

Love, The Trahans

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

Santa

On Sunday, we went to our friends, Scott & Jeannie's house for a Christmas party. Mikie is great friends with their son, Connor. And, lucky for us, Scott is on a first name basis with Santa. So, Santa agreed to come to the party to visit with all the kids.

You would have thought that Mikie would have been excited to see Santa. But, before we left, Mikie told Mike that he didn't want to see Santa.

Mikie: "I don't want to see Santa."

Mike: "Why not?"

Mikie: "I'm scared he isn't going to bring me any presents."

Mike: "Why, haven't you been good?"

Mikie: "Well, mostly good. But, a little bit bad."Luckily, by the time Santa showed up, Mikie had gotten over his fear. Not only did he run up to sit on Santa's lap and tell him what he wanted, but he went back twice, interrupting other kids to thank Santa for his goodie bag and add a few other items that he forgot.

Merry Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

Snow

When I was a kid, every Christmas my Granny would call and ask if we were having a white Christmas. And, every year, I had to answer "No!" Because, in southeastern Pennsylvania, Christmas was typically green and rainy. Maryland was even worse. So, we were all very excited to move back north where Christmas is white.

For the last two years, we have had snow piled outside on Christmas morning. Which, is really all I care about. For the last two weeks, it has been torture to hear about snow in Houston, Texas, California, and Las Vegas. And we have had NONE. (Ice storm excluded).

Needless to say, we were all very excited to FINALLY get some snow. And, boy, did we get snow. It is still snowing right now (8:30am Saturday morning), and we have almost a foot. Plus, we are supposed to get another storm tomorrow, although it may deposit ice instead. . .

No one is more excited about the snow than Mikie. This morning, Mike woke up to clear the driveway (since we are going to the Bruins game this afternoon). And, I jumped in the shower for exactly 10 minutes. During that time, Mikie decided that he wanted to go outside too.

By the time I got out of the shower and yelled downstairs to check on Mikie, I realized it was awfully quite. Too quiet. I looked downstairs and found the closet door ajar, and gloves and scarves scattered all over the floor. My HOPE was that Mikie was attempting to get dressed. Or, worst case, he was standing in the garage trying to get Mike's attention to bring him outside.

Nope, dressed only in his fleece PJs, snow boots, hat and mittens, Mikie had unlocked the back door and was making his way to the swing set. When I found him, he was actually on his way back inside because he realized he "forgot his coat".After showering to warm up his frozen self, we put on weather appropriate clothes and ventured outside to play. Unfortunately, the snow isn't very wet, so sledding was slower than last year. And, we couldn't build a snowman. But, Mikie had fun none the less. Here are some pictures and video:Love, The Trahans

Amusing Anecdotes

You can never say our lives are boring when Mikie is around. On Thursday morning, I was trying to get Mikie to leave early for daycare with me. The remnants of debris from the ice storm continued to make driving fun, and I was hoping to get to work on time for once. Unfortunately, Mikie wasn't in the mood to cooperate. Hiding behind the recliner, every time I called his name, I heard a small squeaky voice say "Mikie's not home right now. . . Leave a message." In hind sight, it was very amusing (especially since I don't know where he picked it up from, it isn't like he calls people and gets their voice mail). At the time, it was less so. . .

Added to my "amusement" for the day was the fish food incident. When I picked Mikie up from daycare, Mikie and I were talking about his favorite toy. To which the owner interjected, "Favorite, right behind fish food." Confused, I asked what he meant (after all, we haven't owned fish since Mike tested the "all-drains-lead-to-the-ocean" principle when we left Maryland). Evidently, one of the staff let Mikie help feed the fish before I arrived. Not unusual. . . being one of the last kids there, he has been allowed to help feed the fish in the past. This time, after adding the food to the tank, Mikie decided to LICK HIS FINGERS CLEAN. The teacher seemed so concerned that I would be upset. Meanwhile, I couldn't stop laughing, knowing that this was EXACTLY the sort of thing Mikie would do.

As if that image wasn't amusing enough, Mikie's friend, Katie, said to him, "You ate FISH FOOD?" Like this was the coolest thing anyone had ever done. To which Mikie replied nonchalantly, "Yeah."

Hopefully he didn't just start a trend. . .

Love, The Trahans

Introducing Nibbles

Don't worry. In spite of Mikie's (and to some degree, my) desire for her to come out, Nibbles has not yet been born. Which is a good thing, since Mike is still working on hanging the chair railing and pictures in the nursery. And, we have to assemble the crib, buy a new mattress, diaper pail, bottles, girl clothes, etc. Not to mention, agree on a name. The to-do list seems never ending. Somehow, I foresee a post Christmas trip to Babies 'R Us in our future. . .

We had a 28 week doctor's appointment today, complete with ultrasound and glucose screen for gestational diabetes. The glucose screen went well, considering I had to fast for four hours and drink a sugary substance that LOOKED like orange soda but tasted horrible. Not as bad as barium, but bad. I don't know what the results are (and, if I failed, I hope they don't tell me until AFTER Christmas, so I can eat freely until then). But, I consider the test a success since I didn't vomit or pass-out. Although, I was a bit woozy when I got back to work. . .

The ultrasound was fun. Based on the many looks and comments about my size, I have been fearful that I am carrying around a 13 pound baby. The doctor wanted another ultrasound (and it isn't our last, we have two more to go) to verify that she is still growing. No, this isn't common. We're lucky recipients of many ultrasounds due to all the issues with bleeding I had early on. Anyway, there appears to be no need to worry, since she weighed in at 2-lbs, 9-ozs today. Which, according to the doctor (and all the books we have) is the perfect weight for her age. And (for everyone who thinks I look like I am having twins) having gained 19-lbs, I am too.

We also discovered that she is super flexible, since she was sleeping head up on the left, feet up on the right, butt down in my pelvis, making a very nice "V". So, we don't know how long she is. But, gymnast may rank in her future.

Why the "introducing" title? Since we were stuck in the hospital for 2 hours, the ultrasound tech decided to do a 3D ultrasound. So, we have a very nice picture of Nibbles napping:For the benefit of my dad (who thought Mikie's first ultrasound was a picture from the Mars Rover), the gray matter that is exploding from the back of her head is not her brain, it's my placenta. . . she was using it as a pillow. And, if you look above her forehead, you can make out a little hand (evidently, she takes after Mike and Mikie and likes to sleep with her arm above her head).

Long story short, we're all healthy. Now, all we need is for Santa to bring us a name (although, I still think she looks like an Emma. . . )

Love, The Trahans

The Castle

As a follow-up to my previous post Santa, many people have asked if we found the castle Mikie wanted. The simple answer, yes. However, after getting over the hurdle of finding and purchasing the castle, we found a million other problems. . .

The first, the assembled dimensions of the castle weren't listed on the Toys 'R Us website. After getting the castle, we realized it was much larger than the original castle. . . quite possibly too large to fit on the train table we have.

Mike being a) male and b) and engineer, he was convinced that he could build a new train table that would fit the new castle, and have more storage for all of the train tracks we haven't been able to effectively house in the existing train table. And, try as I might to convince him that the materials plus labor would cost MORE than buying a new table, he was determined to build a table himself.

Until Saturday, when, after driving to Home Depot, he realized that the materials alone were going to run nearly $200. . .

So, I went on-line with the intention to purchase a new train table. However, we were both concerned that the new table wasn't much larger than the existing table (although it was nicer quality and had more storage). Before shelling out $210 + shipping on another train table, we decided to assemble the castle and verify that it was in fact too big.

Mikie went to bed at 8pm as usual. At 9:30, after we were sure that Mikie was asleep, Mike went upstairs to retrieve the castle.

As soon as Mike came out of the bedroom with the castle (which he didn't leave in the garbage bag I wrapped it in), Mikie popped his head out of his door to see what was going on. . . who was that castle for. . . and, could he see the picture on the box?

Luckily, Mike quickly came up with his favorite excuse: "It's a present for Arcangelo". This was enough to convince Mikie it wasn't his castle from Santa, but didn't dissuade him from wanting to see the picture. . .

Somehow, Mike convinced Mikie to return to bed without looking at the box or asking more questions. And, we assembled the castle. It does overhang the edge of the table by 1/4" on one side, but Mike plans on grabbing the jigsaw and trimming it slightly if Mikie is bothered by it.

And so continues the web of deception and lies to keep the mystery of Christmas alive. Hopefully he will forget this incident when Arcangelo opens a rocket ship, not a castle, on Christmas Eve. . .

Love, The Trahans

Whistling

I don't remember what old movie it was, with the famous line about whistling: "you just put your lips together and blow." I remember thinking this was an oversimplified representation of a very difficult task. I mean, put your lips together too tightly, and you just end up looking like a chipmunk. Blow too hard, and you don't get anything. Then there were those people who could make blades of grass whistle. Or my friend's dad who could put his fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistle so loud, you could hear him down the street. . .

I personally, only whistle as an alternative to singing or humming when happy (singing at work being one of those things I try to avoid). I find it offensive when people whistle to get your attention. So, you rarely hear whistling in our house.

In spite of this, Mikie learned a new trick. . . how to whistle. Kind of. To see what I mean, click on the video below:

The first time he did it, it was incredibly amusing. The second time, it was still funny, because Mike was experiencing it for the first time.

However, when you're driving on a dark road at night and your child "whistles" because he doesn't think you heard him when he yelled "Press Play" on three separate occasions, the cuteness wears off.

And, when you're at Target, reading ingredient labels on medicine or searching for the perfect card, and your child "whistles" at you to get your attention, it becomes downright obnoxious. REALLY fast. Not to mention, people turn to look at what on earth is prompting your child to make weird yodeling type noises. And, because he is now getting A LOT of attention, he sees no reason to STOP, only making the people around you more annoyed (or amused if they have young kids too).

I can't WAIT to see what cute habit he picks up next. . .

Love, The Trahans

Disturbing Toys

Mikie has become quite the connoisseur of toys. He is quick to tells us which ones he wants, and for what occasion (Christmas, his birthday, his NEXT birthday, etc.) I think he has us covered for gift ideas through age 6. . .

He also points out what toys are "boy toys" and what toys are "girl toys". The girl toys usually stand out because they are pink or have a picture of a girl playing with them. He has already started grading these toys on whether Nibbles will like them or not.

The one toy that she definitely won't want: the baby doll that goes to the bathroom. Why, "Because it may poop on her arm." Mikie is both fascinated and disgusted by the doll he sees advertised everywhere that really goes to the bathroom. I'm sure it is like Betsy Wetsy, updated for today's tech savvy youngsters. Man, I remember Katie and I wanting a Betsy Wetsy that really wet her diapers. We never got one. Cabbage Patch Kids took over as the new rage, and Betsy Wetsy became a distant memory. Like the Easy Bake Oven we never got (man how I wanted to bake cupcakes in my own oven. . .)

But I digress. According to our resident toy expert, the baby dolls that really use the bathroom are "gross" and Nibbles will most definitely NOT want one. Although, he does seem to think that a toy toilet that really flushes is a fun idea. . .

Somehow, I doubt this was the response the marketing group anticipated when they decided to launch this toy. Then again, Mikie obviously isn't the target demographic. . .

Love, The Trahans

New Forms of Torture

Today, I discovered the most effective form of torture. . . the "Virtual Waiting Room".

The one thing I know my husband wants more than anything for Christmas is tickets to see the Red Sox. He (and the local news, the radio station, and the weekly e-mails I get from Red Sox Nation) have all been kind enough to remind me that tickets to individual games go on sale December 13th at 10am EST.

I entered the drawing to be eligible to go to Fenway and buy my tickets in person. . . Needless to say I was not a winner. . .

So, at 9am, I woke up. I dutifully researched what games would be going on sale, and made a prioritized list of the ones I thought he would prefer to attend. I researched seating, pricing, trying to guess where we should sit. Should we sit near first, behind the dugout and get to watch the guys walk off the field each inning? Or, assuming they get Teixeira, Youk might be playing third, so Mike might prefer sitting there, which would also make us closer to Jason Bay and allow us to watch Francona chew on bubble gum all evening. Oh, I thought of everything.

By 9:45, I had eaten breakfast, grabbed some juice, and settled into the office to get some tickets.

And so began my experience with the "Virtual Waiting Room". Evidently, when you try to buy tickets, you are placed in a virtual waiting room. "Patrons are selected from this virtual waiting room on a random basis for the opportunity to purchase tickets." I was excited. . . it was like Christmas Eve, watching the seconds count down from 30 to 0 before the waiting room would refresh, each time wondering "will I be selected". After an hour of watching time tick by (and trust me, I was in more than one waiting room), hysteria started to set in. I mean, I'm 7 months pregnant. Being forced to sit alone in a room with no companionship (excluding Nibbles, who felt the need to make her presence known every few minutes). My sciatic nerve shooting pain into my left butt cheek. The weight of my unborn child pushing on my bladder. But, if I leave to pee, will I miss my opportunity?

Shortly thereafter, I realized this is what prison must feel like. . . except worse because I was being punished for trying to do good. When Mike politely asked how I was doing (claiming he had NO IDEA what I was trying to do), I became hysterical, prompting my four year old to bring me tissues and offer to take care of me.

And, now, four hours later, refusing to give up until every game I want is left only with obstructed views, I can be found stoically sitting in front of TWO computers, wishing, HOPING, that something happens to end my misery. . .

It's the thought that counts, right?

Merry Christmas.

Love, The Trahans

Mother of the Year

I know this isn't the first time I have written a post with this title, and with a second child on the way, I'm sure this won't be the last. . .

Today, I dropped Mikie off at school in his pajamas. I had a perfectly rational explanation for doing so: one of the kids in his class was celebrating her birthday. She loves wearing pajamas, so her parents arranged for the teacher to hold "pajama day" in honor of her birthday. All the parents received a note telling them to have their kids wear their pajamas to school on December 9th. . .

So, Mikie happily headed into school this morning in his pajamas. And, inside, we discovered that he was THE ONLY KID in his pajamas. Evidently, the birthday girl went home sick yesterday. And, although Mikie told me this yesterday, I failed to get the memo that, because she went home sick, the pajama party would be postponed until December 10th.

Luckily, Mikie frequently marches to the beat of a different drum, and was completely unfazed by the fact that he was walking around in fleece PJ's with a gorilla on his chest.

As if it wasn't bad enough that he was wearing PJ's at school, when I picked him up, he informed me he had an "accident". He tends towards constipation and refuses to wear his underpants if there is any drop of urine or streak of fecal matter visible on them. So, when he told me he had an "accident", I asked if he changed his underwear. At this point he told me he didn't have any. Knowing what the answer would be, I asked him if he was WEARING any underwear, correctly guessing that he would say "No."

Yes, my child was forced to go commando for the afternoon because his mother didn't restock his container of backup clothes and underwear. . .

And, that is why I will not be receiving the Mother of the Year award this year.

Love, The Trahans

Oliver Twist

You would think I never feed my child. . .

Every time I pick Mikie up from school, he asks if I have a snack for him. I know we have a 45 minute commute home, and that he eats lunch much earlier than I do. So, I should start bringing snacks for his ride home. But, as any working mom knows, I have a hard enough time some mornings remembering to bring his breakfast and lunch, forget thinking far enough into the future to anticipate that he will want a snack.

Yesterday, I picked him up an hour and a half early so we could race up to the car dealership to pick up the SUV (which they had for the last four days for a recall). I needed to get there before they closed, because I couldn't deal with the rental car they gave me for another second. Of course, the minute he was in the car, Mikie decided he needed a snack. And, while I had a banana, this was deemed inappropriate snack material by my son. To prevent 45 minutes of driving with him whining about a snack (did I mention there was no DVD player in the rental car to distract him), I promised we would get a snack after we picked up Rocket.

40 minutes later, we arrive at the car dealership. Mikie had fallen asleep in the car, which made it very interesting for us to get inside (at 7 months pregnant, my balance is thrown to much to carry him, even if I could safely lift his 42 pound self). Luckily, the cold air coupled with the fact I was about to drop him jarred him awake enough to sleep walk into the dealership. He immediately settled into a chair in the waiting room while I signed all the paperwork to get the car.

While I was not so patiently waiting for the service manager to review the work with me, I noticed a small figure walk past me into one of the offices. I quickly realized it was my child, and rushed in after him. I walked in to find him sitting in a chair, having just asked the woman whose office he walked into for a "piece of candy". Now, there was no evidence of candy on her desk, so there was no reason for him to ask a perfect stranger for candy. However, she opened her drawer, pulled out a Ziploc bag of left over Halloween candy, and offered him a piece, telling him he needed to check with me first. I told him he could have a piece, helped him pick one I knew he wouldn't immediately spit out (since, he loves to try things, only to announce they are "yucky" and spit the remnants into my hand). I tried to rush him out of the office to the car, but before he would move, he instructed this woman to "open it" for him.

So, not only am I a bad mother for not having the foresight to bring my child a snack, but I am also a bad mother for not teaching him manners. Not to mention a total failure to impress on him that you shouldn't take candy from strangers. . .

Love, The Trahans

Growth Spurt

I had to post this because it epitomizes my child. Every morning and every evening, I diligently water the Christmas tree (I've seen too many news casts on how quickly your house will ignite with a dried up tree). This is somewhat challenging since bending isn't one of Nibbles and my strong suits. Mikie usually sits back, watching cartoons while I handle the watering. The last two days, he has made the following comment: "Mom, if you make it grow, it will be too big again."

Obviously, I wasn't the only family member scarred by the massive Christmas tree experience.

Love, The Trahans

Monday

I think there was a saying "Monday's child is full of grace." Let's just say that being born on Monday didn't help Mikie in this category.

At 4:50pm, as I was walking back from the candy machine (yes, I'm pregnant), I could hear my phone ringing. I didn't speed up because I'd been harassed by obnoxious sales people all day. Then I heard my cell phone ring. I ran into my office in time to notice that it was the daycare calling. Anyone with kids knows this is never a good sign. . .

Turns out, Mikie was running "really fast" (his words, not mine), but "not in the mud" (his clothes tell a different story" and fell into the picnic table. His nose was bleeding and swelling quickly, and the staff weren't sure if he broke it.

I will admit, the first thought through my head was "If I call the doctor, they will tell me to go to the ER. And, if I go to the ER, it won't be broken. So, why bother." After all, it was almost five o'clock, and I was (am) a very tired, swollen pregnant woman who was looking forward to going home.

But, guilt got the better of me. So, I broke two laws (speeding and talking on a cell phone while driving) and called the pediatrician while rushing to daycare. As predicted, they told me to take him to the ER. And, as predicted, they recommended I go to UMass Memorials University Campus (45 minutes from the daycare) because they have a special pediatric ER and he would get the best treatment there.
Three hours later, Mikie had gotten to have three pictures taken of his bones, only to determine that I was correct, his nose was not broken. By this time, Nibbles and I were starving (having given the last of our candy bar to Mikie). We made a trip to Friendly's for a very late dinner and ice cream, and finally made it home around 10pm.

Of course, the evening wouldn't be complete without some amusing Mikie anecdotes:

1. When I arrived at daycare, Mikie was lounging on a cot, surrounded by doting females. . . namely his friends Teagan and Tessa.
2. Not only did he have the girls wrapped around his finger, but he had the teacher feeling guilty enough to give him her full size Kit Kat bar (one of Mikie's favorite candy bars).
3. When we arrived at the hospital, Mikie wanted me to walk back to the car to get his other Batman toy. Not feeling like walking a mile back to the parking garage, I told him we could all go after we saw the doctor. To which Mikie replied, "I have a better idea. I'll wait here while you and dad walk back to the car and get my toy." To which I responded, "No way. If we did that, the nice policeman out front would take daddy and mommy away for leaving you hear by yourself." To which my smart a$$ son responded, "Well, we'll just tell the policeman what the plan is." The most amusing part of the story. . . the "nice policeman" just happened to be sitting right outside the open door of our room when I said this. Hopefully he was amused and not taking down my personal information to run a background check. . .
4. As is becoming a trend, the doctor took note of the fact that Mikie was "very active" and looked like the type of kid who was familiar with bumps and bruises. At least they peg him correctly, rather than assume we abuse the kid. Although, given that this is not the first time we've been to this ER, they did expect him to tell the story of what happened, to make sure it meshed with mine. Or maybe the policeman tipped her off. . .

Thankfully, we're all home, and none of us are broken. Although, I'm starting to think that the Christmas photo is a waste of time this year. Either that, or it will be a picture of Mikie looking like a real hockey player. At least he still has all his teeth. . .

Love, The Trahans