Showered with love

My mom's family had a baby shower for us this weekend. When I say "my mom's family," I mean the entire family. Everyone was present with the exception of one cousin, who happens to be stationed in Korea right now. We invited all of my work pals and our Bible study crew. I couldn't believe how many people were there, not to mention how many gifts accompanied those people.

You know, you go through life - making friends and avoiding enemies - hoping that you do alright. You never know exactly how good a friend you've been until you go through one of life's major events and your friends turn out for you. We went through this when we got married. Almost four years later, we're still completely overwhelmed by the number of people who show their support for us when we begin a new chapter of our lives.

When life throws us an unfortunate chapter, I pray that all of these people who have been there to laugh with us show up to cry with us as well. Thank God for friends and family - especially ours.

Nothing important

Last night, Doug and I went to the Taste of Texas with a big group of really fun people. When I say fun people, I mean that I haven’t had sore abs in 27 weeks. I woke up this morning with sore abs from all of the laughing I did last night.

All of my friends who have recently become parents have encouraged us to go out one more time, to take one more trip, to spend just a little more time as a couple. Well, I think we did just that last night. I can’t imagine how long it will be after Daniel arrives that we can spend four hours at an eating establishment and not worry about what time it is, how long the baby’s been with the sitter, or how much we miss him.

I happen to be one of those people who doesn’t believe that you need one more night on the town or one more exotic getaway. Sure, we happened to go to Costa Rica when I was 11 weeks pregnant, but that trip was booked long before we knew I was pregnant. Besides all that, we were there with my parents. Of course I had fun last night, but my social life isn’t going to be on my radar for too much longer.

Call me crazy, but I’m really looking forward to being a family of three. I’m excited about taking Daniel to Chick-fil-a on a Friday night and watching him zig and zag through the jungle jim with ten other kids he’s never met. I can’t wait for Easter to be a chaotic event - one with stained hands and too-expensive outfits that we’ll only wear to church once. The idea of not giving a rip about what’s under the tree with my name on it, but really enjoying my son’s face light up with glee when he opens something he’s been eyeing at the toy store - that’s what I’m living for now.

Sure we had a blast last night. Sure I’ll probably miss adult interaction like that. Am I worried about it? Nah. Do I think that life is going to change in about 13 weeks? Well hell yes I do. Do I care? Hell yes - I care and I can’t wait.

Nesting, neuroses, and more nesting

So yesterday was about the most ridiculous day I've had to date during this pregnancy. I went from nesting, to hysterical, to nesting again. Sheesh. I guess if it only happens once every 22 weeks, we're in good shape.

Neuroses part 1 – Immediately after breakfast, I decided that the arm chair that our pups have completely destroyed had to go. It's been ripped to shreds for months (I'd even say years) and it's been driving me crazy. Sure, it's in their room for them to shed on or sleep on or chew on or whatever – but enough was enough and it was time for the chair to go. I tried to get it out of there myself on Thursday night, but I just couldn't figure out how we got the stupid thing in the room. I was half-tempted to pull out Doug's chain saw and just cut the thing in half, but then I realized that I've never used a chain saw and 22 weeks pregnant is probably not the best time to teach yourself how to wield something that dangerous. Alas, I gave up and decided to clean something else.

After 15 or so minutes of repositioning the stupid thing every way we could think of, Doug decided that it was only coming out if we took the door off the hinges. I think he thought that would be enough to send me nesting on something else. Nope. Hinges off. Please. Now. Please. Poor Doug. That's just what he wanted to be doing on Saturday morning immediately after breakfast. Whether it was or not, that's what he did.

Neuroses part 2 – Our mailbox came unloosed from part of the post a few weeks back during a storm. It was still functional, just not pretty. Poor Doug. Again. It was such a pretty day; I insisted that we work outside. I trimmed the hedges, which again, had to be done immediately after breakfast – no questions, please. Doug ripped the old post out of the ground to discover that we were going to have to set the new post in concrete. Off he went to the local hardware store to pick up a bag of quickrete. Enter hysteria.

Hysteria – Dan's Country Hardware is just a hair over a minute from the house. In my head, that indicated that Doug should be gone no longer than 10 minutes, 15 if there were a lot of our neighbors out buying quickrete. He left; I finished bagging my hedge clippings, and moved around to the backyard for doggie duty. Or is that doggie doody? You get the point. I finished de-dootying the backyard and went inside. Hmmm. Doug had now been gone for about 30 minutes. Slightly worried, but not hysterical yet. I called him, but of course, his phone rang in our bedroom. I went outside to occupy myself further and low and behold, my ears are filled with the sounds of sirens. Many sirens. Less than one minute from the house. Hmmm. Worried, not hysterical, but beginning to pray. I tried to convince myself that Dan's didn't have any quickrete and Doug had just gone to Home Depot. I tried really hard to convince myself of that, but when he had been gone 56 minutes, I really started to panic. I was splitting my time staring at the clock and staring at the front door. At one hour, I was planning to get in my car and go look for him. At 57 minutes, he pulled in the driveway. I ran out to meet him, by this time, completely inconsolably hysterical. Poor Doug. He thought someone had died. I couldn't really explain to him why I was so upset, but I couldn't calm down either. I half crawled in the truck with him, crying my eyes out and telling him how much I loved him. Poor guy. So far, he's had a pretty rational pregnant wife. Saturday? Not so much.

Neuroses part 3 – I spent yesterday evening cleaning out the top of my closet. My mom and dad (Daniel's Gram and Gramps) came over and bought us a glider for Daniel's room. While we were at Babies R Us, I bought Daniel his first pair of board shorts, his first Hawaiian shirt, and his first box of diapers. Well my God. This stuff had to have a place to be until we start working on his room! So there I was, 10:00 last night, standing on a kitchen chair in the middle of my closet. . . throwing out old bathing suits that wore out their welcome years ago, rearranging luggage, and dragging down old paperwork to file. Poor Doug. He just wanted to have a nice, leisurely weekend. Too bad my hormones took over and made that absolutely impossible. Maybe next weekend will be more sane.

Fur baby madness

The last two days have been an exercise in. . . well, lots of things. Patience, for one. Preparation for motherhood is on the list, too. If you can think of other good descriptors, bring it on. . .

Maddie - she's our blue heeler - decided to pick up some sort of nasty bacteria sometime on Tuesday. I spent the better part of the part of the night usually designated for sleeping cleaning up, well, Maddie poo. She evidently had "dietary indiscretion," which translates into $180 at the vet and a lot of antibiotics. I've been spoon feeding her prescription dog food for the last couple of days with a shot of vanilla yogurt on the side to get this bacteria situation under control. Just as things were looking up for Maddie, things started looking grim for Dasha.

Dasha - she's our brindle baby - also had dietary indiscretion. Dasha chose to ingest Dusty Miller, a type of ground cover plant. Again, the time most people spent in their beds last night, I was cleaning up copious amounts of vomit. Around 3:30 in the morning, Dasha woke me up with a surprise. Thanks, babe. By the time I got everything cleaned up and was ready to crawl back into bed, she got sick again. This is where the story gets good.

I discovered that Dasha had eaten the Dusty Miller when I scrubbed regurgitated leaves off of our bedroom floor. I hopped online to find out whether they were poisonous – the first site I came across at 4:00 am had them listed as "slightly poisonous." Uh huh. After a hurried trip to the emergency vet, an additional $180, and a lot of blood, Doug determined that the Dusty Miller is a member of the Wormwood plant family. Ever heard of that? That's where we get Absinthe. Ever heard of that? That's what Van Gogh was blasted on when he decided it was a good idea to have one ear rather than two. Needless to say, Dasha was distraught. Mommy was distraught. The bank account is distraught.

So, what's the moral of the story? Don't let your dogs eat anything other than their dog food, or you'll have a very expensive, very sleepless couple of days.

Big three

So today is our third wedding anniversary. Yay! We're going out to Vargo's tonight to celebrate. I hope we get to see the peacocks! With any amount of, ahem, timing. . . this'll be our last anniversary as a family of two. We'll see how that timing thing works out for us. :o)

Babies, babies, babies

So it's no secret that I have baby fever. I have for a while, and I probably will until the stick turns blue. I currently have 13 pregnant friends or acquaintances – it's no wonder I have baby on the brain. The first one is all set to drop on October 1 (come on, Mary! Pop that baby out!) and the last one on the list is due sometime in March. With any amount of luck (or grace or faith or whatever it takes), I'll be adding my name to that list by the time the last baby drops.

Thus far, my little list of women has been a very accurate predictor of gender. Rachel started the list with a boy and has since been followed exactly in order – boy, girl, boy, girl, boy, girl. The next friend on the list is Carey and according to my list, she's having a girl. We'll see if that's accurate, but so far, my little list was right about Ashley, Deena, and Amy – 3 for 3 ain't bad.

Assuming that I don't have to add any other friends to the list before I add myself, Doug and I should have a boy. Considering that we haven't even conceived yet, that's a long shot, but that's my prediction today.

** N.B. Daniel's actual conception date was 9/29/2007, the day of this post.**

Rough weekend for Dasha

I just glanced back at my last post, which, ironically enough, had to do with Maddie having a rough weekend. This weekend, it was Dasha's turn. This weekend was a bit more dramatic.
I decided to take Dasha jogging Friday night - not something unusual as I had also taken Dasha jogging on Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday of this very same week. We've taken the same route every time we've gone jogging for the better part of 3 years. Nothing unusual has ever happened, except maybe a trashy guy honking at me, but that's something that can be ignored.

I guess your luck has to run out sooner or later, which for Dasha and me, translates into 2 very large, very aggressive Rottweilers chasing you down the street and trying to kill you. I had seen the dogs the day before. We jogged by, they growled and almost pulled their owner out of his lawn chair, and we kept going. I was a little concerned, but the owner seemed to be intent on keeping them in his yard. Friday, the larger of the two dogs (I assume the male) was tethered to a tree with a tow cable. Yeah - those things you use to tow cars and trucks when they break down. Evidently, this cable was no match for a blood-lusting junk-yard dog.

We had just passed the house when he busted loose from the cable and came tearing down the street. I panicked, but didn't lose my head. I remembered a friend of mine telling me about being chased by a dog. He jumped in the back of a pickup and avoided the altercation altogether. It just so happened that we were next to an old F-150. The dog was bearing down on us and my hands were shaking, which wouldn't have mattered anyway - the stupid tailgate was stuck. If it had worked, I could have gotten Dasha into the back of the truck just in time, but as luck would have it (or just as out-of-luck would have it, in this case), the tailgate jammed just as the dog tackled Dasha. In retrospect, I should have hoisted her over the gate and jumped over after her. But even at that, there's nothing saying that the dogs couldn't have come over the gate after us. Talk about your real-life Cujo. . .

Back to the story - The owner was running down the street with the smaller of the dogs on his heels. By smaller, I mean she probably outweighed me by 25 pounds instead of by 50. By now, the male had my poor puppy on her back, jaws locked around her throat. She was screaming, I was screaming - I didn't know I was related to Jamie Lee Curtis, but damn I have some lungs. . .

The guy grabbed the male just in time for the female to pick up where her evil cohort left off. She elected to go for Dasha's torso.

Bad boy! he's telling this dog, like it gives a flying flip. I'm still screaming - They're killing her! They're killing her! I didn't know what else to do. I realize now that I shouldn't have screamed, but what was I supposed to do? They would have outrun us and I was no match for either of the dogs. I was kicking them and hitting them, but it did no good. Those dogs were after blood.
The owner finally gets a hold of both dogs. As soon as they were secured, I was running like I haven't run ever in my life. The guy's wife was in the street, terrified. She was really concerned about me, but I was just worried about getting Dasha home and away from those dogs. Five more people tried to stop me on my way through the crowd, but I just wanted to get home. It was all I could do to keep the tears from pouring down my face, but somehow I managed.
We sprinted the rest of the way - I was desperate to get home. I fell into the doorway and broke into hysterics. Doug had no idea what was going on and I couldn't gain enough composure to tell him. When I finally choked down a full breath of air, I started to relay the story to him. He was headed out the door to go kill the dogs, but I managed to talk him into staying with me. We compromised - I'm calling animal control in the morning.

Later that evening, I noticed that Dasha was bleeding. I checked her over when we got home, but I guess I missed the puncture wound in her chest. It was rather difficult to see through the blur of tears. . . Anyway, aside from being a little skiddish and the small scab on her chest, she's ok. I think I've suffered more from the attack than she did, but with a little time, the nightmares and my jumpiness will pass. . .