Getting The Nest Ready

July is finally here (woohoo!) I think it's safe to say that I am officially in full-blown nesting mode. I've been scrubbing, sweeping, mopping, dusting, wiping, spraying and wiping again like a woman possessed. Which I guess I am, when I stop and think about it.

Funny thing, though, is that I'm pretty sure the baby dropped in the last day or two. And, as of today, Tiny seems to be slowing down some. I mean, I'm still feeling some movement...I paid particular attention after dinner, when this little one typically likes to start dancing with delight. But I haven't had a single "Wow, what are you doing in there??" moment all day, like I have been.

I realize the accomodations are getting a bit cramped, but I can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, this baby isn't going to wait another four weeks. Maybe we're looking at something more like....two weeks?

I know, I've been so anxious about getting to finally see and hold this little one that I could just be psyching myself out. But I'm pretty sure this is what it felt like when I got close to the end with my last two.

Which means, I'd better get on the ball and really start getting things ready.

And have I mentioned that I'm having a homebirth?

So much to clean...so little time.

Warning: Cranky Pregnant Rant/Vent

I'd like to apologize right away for what's about to follow. I try to stay upbeat and positive, but tonight I'm angry and depressed. I'll probably regret writing this about an hour (or less) after I post it, but if I can't put my own feelings out on my own blog, where can I?

My husband was supposed to have tomorrow off. His first Sunday off since I don't know when. I could look it up on my calendar, but I don't even feel like bothering right now. I can't remember the last time we actually attended a Sunday morning service at church together. I can't remember the last time he had any day on the weekend off. And tonight, he came home and told me that his schedule got changed. Again. He has to work tomorrow. Again. From eight in the morning until five at night.

So much for church.

Or anything else for that matter.

I'm sick of the way his boss does this. I'm sick of my husband getting called in early, made to stay late, called with stupid questions when he is home, and I'm especially fed up with never being able to count on his schedule.

I really thought that tomorrow afternoon would be the day Eric would recharge the air conditioner in the van for me. So much for that. Guess I'll try to figure out how to do it myself. I've been waiting for five weeks for the guts in the toilet to be replaced so it stops running. Guess I'll have to figure that one out myself, too. Maybe I ought to just go buy the lumber and build the chicken coop while I'm at it.

I absolutely detest being whiny, but I'm extremely nervous and edgy right now. I want to nest. I want to concentrate on getting things ready for the baby. I want to concentrate on sorting through baby clothes, and trying to figure out just how many cloth diapers I'll actually need. As it stands, we don't even have the birth kit yet. Eric is supposed to pick up the supplies from a guy he used to work with, in the town we used to live in. When's that gonna happen?

I'm not mad at my husband. I know it's not his fault, and it's sure not like he's doing this on purpose. It just hurts. He's the only person in the world that I want to depend on, and the fact that I can't completely do that is darn near devastating.

I want to be calm and peaceful about everything. I know all this will eventually pass, but it sure would help if I had even an inkling of an idea of when that time might come. Three months? Six months? Two years?

I'm reminding myself that it could be worse. He could be in the military, shipped somewhere overseas, or unloving and unfaithful, or not have a job at all, or any number of things that are worse than this. I'm very lucky to have someone that loves me unconditionally the way he does. And I'm lucky to have someone that's willing to work as hard as he does to allow me to stay home with the children. I know what it's like to not have either of those things, and it's something I never take for granted.

I hope you'll forgive me for the rant and vent. I have a lot to be grateful for. I guess I just need to remind myself of that.

Unplugged

I've been watching way too much news this last week. I can always tell when it becomes too much, because those are the times when I tend to withdraw, when the antics of my day-to-day life become reduced in my mind to nothing more than silly frivolity without meaning.

I sign in to Twitter, see people tweeting excitedly about some reality show on t.v., and wonder why they aren't more concerned about our increasing decline towards national bankruptcy?

I click to my Internet homepage and see headlines gleefully proclaiming the life of another political leader going down in flames of deceit and hypocrisy after admitting to marital infidelity. I'm neither disgusted nor shocked. The revelation has become all too commonplace, and I'm left only with a numbed sense of sadness for the children.

I think about posting a delightful picture of my daughter, caught in the act of doing something adorable, and my mind is plagued with images of someone else's daughter whose life is cut short on the other side of the world because she dared to believe that everyone's voice should be heard.

I feel my child moving inside me, snuggled safe and warm within my body, and I wonder at the world I'm bringing him or her into. I remember passages in the Bible where it says something like, "Woe unto those who are with child in those times..." and think that my worries now are only a small glimpse of what it means.

So, I unplug. I turn off the t.v., I walk away from the computer, and I turn my focus to my God, my husband and my children. I remember that Jesus said there would always be troubles in this world, but we are to take heart because He has overcome the world.

I accept the warm support of my loving husband's arms as he holds me in the night and never condemns the tears I shed for circumstances I cannot control and people I'll never know as being "over-emotional". Slowly, the weary sadness recedes.

I smile as my young son kisses my tummy, sending love to his unborn brother or sister.

An unexpected laugh escapes me as I listen to the cheerful chatter of my older daughters. The most important thing in their world right now is the plotline of a comic they are creating together. Ah, innocence.

Peace fills my heart as I watch my youngest daughter's drowsy eyes close serenely to sleep. Tomorrow, she'll alternately be active, curious, cranky, demanding and delightful.

And tomorrow becomes another day to look forward to.

How Could I?

Every time I sat at the computer today, I had to deal with this...



How could I have blogged today, when these sweet little faces wanted so much attention?

The Power of Positive Thinking

Do you believe that positive thinking can make a difference? I didn't used to believe that. It always seemed like some kind of pop-psych nonsense to me, but I'm starting to change my mind.

Case in point, our new home. Well before we were married, hubby and I used to talk and dream about the home we wanted to have some day. We always wanted a farm, not too big or too small, with a beautiful, preferably two-story, plantation-style house. As the years passed, that dream felt more and more distant to me, but Eric never stopped believing that we'd have it someday. Five years later, here we are. Three acres of good land, and a two-story plantation house with some interesting history for my Civil War buff husband. (Apparently, General Sherman actually marched through our front yard, and one of the original owners' slaves killed a Union soldier that tried to set him free. Neat stuff, huh?)

What I'm wondering now is, how much can positive thinking effect my chances of having the baby on the due date I have in mind? Here's why I'm wondering...

With my first pregnancy, the doctor set my due date for September 19th, but in my mind the baby wasn't going to come until the 26th. No matter what anyone said, I was adamant, and doggone if that child didn't arrive exactly when I said she would.

With baby #2, I said she'd come on the 19th, and even though I was having mild contractions that day, the doctor decided to have me induced because I was so far past his due date he was afraid my placenta was "getting old". I never quite understood that, but I was still young enough and uninformed enough to believe that doctors know better than I do. I ended up being induced with #3 as well, which was ironic considering that the doctor didn't even expect me to make it to term with that one.

With baby #4, I decided on a homebirth with a midwife, and that's when I finally started to learn that my instincts are good, and my body really does know what it's doing. Under a doctor's care, I never would've been allowed to travel back to Kansas City to see my mother one last time before she passed away, since I would've been "so close to my due date". My midwife, however, had complete confidence in my ability to judge how I was feeling, and understood that my mental state was just as important as my physical state. I made the trip and shared some precious last moments with my mom. My perfectly healthy son was born at home 16 days after she passed, just about the time I was expecting to have him.

With baby #5, no one believed I'd make it to June before giving birth. "There's no way you'll go that long...you're so huge already!" Yeah, thanks, just what every pregnant woman wants to hear. But my mind was stuck on the fact that my baby would absolutely not be born in May, but sometime the first week of June. And June 4th it was.

Okay, so I only got the first one dead-on accurate. But with that first one, I didn't say, "I'm due on the 26th." I said, "The baby will come on the 26th." Did it make a difference? Maybe, maybe not.

I really, really want this baby to be born July 31st. I'm concentrating hard on that date, only six short weeks from now. We'll see what happens.

Forty-two days and counting.

Wordless Wednesday - Brother and Sister Love

Getting In Touch With My Crunchy Self

I've got a confession to make. I've never been the most ecologically-minded person in the world. Not that I'm some kind of uncaring litterbug or anything. I saw too many of those commercials with the Indian chief crying when I was a kid to do something like that. But I've never thought much about recycling and stuff like that, beyond buying some really cool reusable grocery bags that is, because trash is trash, it goes in the trash, the trashman takes it away and that's that. At least, that's how it used to be.

Living out here in the country has been opening my eyes and changing my mind to a few things. How much we waste as a family, how much we put out as waste, is becoming a big deal to me. I guess the fact that, to get rid of our trash, I have to actually take it to a recycling center myself makes a big difference. Out here, no one conveniently comes by at 4am while I'm sleeping and empties the can for me. I have to put it in the back of my van (ewww) and take it there myself.

Have you ever been to a recycling center? I hadn't. Seeing all those trailers broken down into different categories has really gotten to me. I feel guilty for all the empty plastic milk jugs I've tossed that I could've separated out from my household trash. I talked to hubby about it, and we're going to get some more containers so I can start separating.

But my mind hasn't stopped there. I was already planning on using cloth diapers with this baby...it just makes so much more sense to me now, and I only wish I'd done it sooner. The shocker is, I'm seriously starting to think about using cloth pads, too. Surprised? I am. I swear, I'm either turning into some kind of granola-crunchy-clean livin' woman, or I'm channeling an 1800s pioneer woman from a past life. (I swear, the fact that we rented "Frontier House" from Netflix has nothing to do with it, either!)

The fact is, I was searching around on Etsy for baby slings and cloth diapers when I came across some cloth pads. And they were cute! All different colors and patterns, you know? And I've always been a sucker for pretty, feminine underthings, even if no one else will ever see them. Though I don't think I'll be asking hubby's opinion on this subject. We can talk about most anything, but pads? I'm thinking not.

So, any thoughts, opinions or advice on this? Don't be shy, I'd really appreciate getting some feedback on this. And I promise, I won't let hubby read the comments on this one. It'll just be between us ladies.

Updated to add: My good friend Marye has shared this link with me regarding cloth pads. Great information, if you're interested (like me). Thanks Marye!